


No time for losers

by gottalovev



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nobody is Dead, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Underage Drinking, Wade/Vanessa - Freeform, they are still close friends, various other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark: Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist. Hockey superstar.  </p><p>(featuring among other things an unexpected trade, learning to get along with new teammates, pining, the Olympics, and a happy ever after)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No time for losers

**Author's Note:**

> Made for the Cap-Ironman Reverse Big Bang, where I had the great joy to work from a fantastic art piece by Angel. You'll see it embedded in the fic, and I'll be sure to link to an art post if it becomes available, so you can go shower her with praise and love. I have more gushing of my own that I'll put in the end notes.
> 
> This is a complete AU, centered around hockey. I don't think you need to be overly familiar with the sport to enjoy, and I put in some places definitions for specific hockey terms that will appear if you hover over the word. The only warning I can think of, apart from the rating due to explicit sex, is about underage drinking by USA standards (Tony is 20, soon to be 21 years old).
> 
> :)

It would be great if the annoying noise would just fucking stop. And the kicking to his calf, too. Tony slits an eye open and immediately regrets it. Way, way too bright. He grunts, and fuck, this is the worst way to wake up. His stomach is rolling and his head is already starting to pound. The source of the noise turns out to be inches from Tony's face; oh, right, it's his phone. He must have fallen asleep checking his texts. Tony almost throws the phone to the ground, that's how much he doesn't want to deal with another human being right now. And Jesus, what's up with the feeble kicking to his leg again? It’s so annoying. 

No one but Rhodey calls on this line, and Tony has no idea why the fucker is doing it so early. Figuring that answering will cut the noise faster than letting it go to voice mail, Tony gropes for the phone and unlocks it with his thumb.

"Fuck you," he says with feeling. 

He flops on his back, arm over his eyes. The kicking has stopped with the ringing, that's cool.

"Nice. Well, you are making this easier, thank you."

That is definitely _not_ Rhodey and the realization is like an ice-cold shower. Jesus Fuck, that's Obadiah Stane, the King's General Manager. Also known as his boss, for all intent and purposes. Suddenly wide awake, and a lot closer to puking, Tony wonders if he can save this one.

"Hey, Obie!" Tony says, overly cheerful. Ow, that hurts his own head, that's how hung-over he is. But hey, he's in Los Angeles, it's time for some acting. "Sorry, I thought it was someone else!"

"I sure hope so," Stane says. "Tony, I need to see you."

For a moment Tony is lost. He has no idea why Obadiah would even want to see him. But then again, Tony needs to start to negotiate his new contract. When he was drafted, he'd signed his entry level three years deal and it's coming due. And frankly? Tony plans on getting the highest fucking contract that has ever been signed in professional hockey right off the bat, even has a restricted free agent. He's just that great and he knows it. Everyone else knows it too. 

"Sure, call Bruce, and we'll set up a meeting." 

There is no doubt that Bruce is the best agent in the business. He'd told Tony to let the Kings come to them, and it seems that it paid off.

"Bruce is on his way. My office, in one hour. Don't be late."

"No problem boss!" Tony says, keeping the cheerful tone. 

Stane hangs up without a goodbye and Tony frowns. Who gets summoned for contract negotiation? It's weird, and Obadiah seemed unnaturally brusque. The sudden rush is also suspicious. It's only early January after all, Bruce and him hadn't planned on negotiating before spring rolled around. Oh well, maybe the Kings want to secure his contract ASAP, to help figure out who they can get or trade, with the salary cap. 

Fully awake, now, Tony finally looks at his bed partner. Oh, make that partners, plural. The kicker is a tiny blonde, long blond hair a mess on the pillow. On her other side, just as dead to the world, is a very naked guy, which is never unwelcome. He has darker skin, is nicely muscled and the two of them are gorgeous. The previous evening comes back in bits and pieces, and Tony congratulates his drunk self for his good taste. Too bad he doesn't remember everything that happened in this very bed. It looks like it must have been fun. 

Tony's phone chirps with a text from Bruce.

_what have you done??????_

And fuck, that means no contract negotiation, he supposes. As much as he tries, Tony doesn't remember doing anything at all out of the ordinary. Yes, he partied hard last night, at some movie premiere after-party. He _might_ have been slightly disorderly. But it's not like he harassed anyone. Hopefully? 

_No idea! I swear! :/_ Tony replies.

He needs to move it, because it surely won't help matters any if he is late to the Kings' offices. The bedroom is easy to recognize as one at the Château Marmont. It's not unusual for him to rent a room instead of bringing strangers to his own. He scribbles a note about having had a good time on the stationary provided on the bedside table, and that breakfast is on him. Tony then has absolutely no qualms in leaving without waking either of the strangers in the bed.

Tony needs to go back to his room, take a shower and haul ass.

**

He might be all smiles when he reaches the Kings' offices, playing the part, but Tony is still queasy. Yes, the hangover still hangs on, even after painkillers and having drank enough that he should be well on the way to rehydrated. 

The taxi lets Tony at the door where Bruce is waiting for him.

"Hey Brucie."

"Tony." He gets a critical up and down as they shake hands. "You okay?"

"Yes! I swear, I have no idea what Stane wants."

"There's only one way to find out. Come on," Bruce says, guiding Tony in.

They ride up the elevator in silence and Stane's assistant lets them in his office immediately. It's empty, for now, and they sit down. Tony checks his phone, does a quick search on Twitter and Google but nothing pops up, save from him being photographed at that premiere. Good pictures, too. By his side, Bruce is clicking his pen repeatedly, which is extremely annoying.

When Stane finally enters, he's not smiling and dread settles even more in Tony's stomach. Something definitely happened. Could it be that he really fucked up while drunk? He's so careful to never drive. He has no idea why the idea strikes, but Tony suddenly wonders if there is a sex tape. Not that he'd mind it on a personal level, not really, but it's not good for the image and he would lose a lot of sponsors. Shit. 

"Thanks for coming over on such short notice," Stane says. 

"What is it, Obadiah?" Bruce asks.

Stane puts his hands on his mouth and then flat on the desk. "There's no good way to say this, so here it is. Tony, you've been traded to Washington."

It's like the world screeches to a halt. He stares, thoughts starting again and going a million miles a minute. It's a joke, right? The Kings cannot have traded him. Bruce puts a hand on Tony's leg.

"Traded to Washington?" Bruce repeats, breaking the spell.

"I'm the team's top scorer!" Tony finally says, aghast. "Heck, I'm sixth in the league!"

Stane sighs, sitting back. "I know, Tony. Imagine if you even tried."

That stings, hard. "Hey, that's not fair! When did I last miss a game?"

"How many times did you party all night before a big game? Showed up with a hangover? Put dissent in the locker room?" Stane accuses.

Tony bristles and leaps to his feet. He is absolutely furious.

"Find me one game – one! - where I didn't do everything I could for this fucking team!" he yells. "And I do no put dissent in the fucking locker room! That's not true."

"Justin-"

"Justin Hammer is the one who puts dissent in the locker room," Tony yells. He hates his coach, they've always fought like cats and dogs. It seems like Tony has the occasion to finally get that off his chest. "He lacked the talent to be a star player, and resents the ones who have it. If he could actually strategize, that would be one thing, but-"

"Enough!" Both Stane and Bruce say. 

Tony snaps his mouth shut, but he'd be so far from done. Well that's at least one good thing that will come from going to Washington: he won't have to play for Hammer anymore. But it also means leaving his teammates, including his best friend Rhodey, and the fight leaves Tony all at once. Three years ago, when he was an 18 year old drafted by the Kings, Tony honestly thought he'd play his whole career in LA. He’d even thought of Obadiah as a father figure; one of the best he ever had, in fact, better than the biological one. He should have known. Fathers are unreliable.

"I guess the whole concession player spiel was just a load of bullshit, then. 'We'll build the team around you, Tony. We believe in you, Tony. The most talent I've ever seen, Tony,'" he parrots. He had bought that hook, line and sinker.

"You do have a gift, no one can deny that," Stane says with a sigh. Obviously, it wasn't enough to keep him. "Hopefully this is a good change for you, a calmer city -" 

The nausea comes back with a vengeance. "Yeah, right. Please don't pretend you're doing this for _me_. With Thor back in shape, you’ve got another big scorer. And since you had no idea how to deal with my future contract, you sold me out. I hope what you got in return was worth it." 

A few months out of a new contract, on the cusp of being a restricted free agent – so a sure save if Washington matched any bid made by other teams at the end of it? Tony wonders what they offered in the trade for him.

Stane doesn't like the attack, and his concerned façade slips. 

"Don't make the mistake to think you are irreplaceable, Tony," he says. He then smirks, a little mean. "And you'd be surprised. Barnes. First draft pick for this year, which should be good. Teddy Altman. Billy Kaplan. I've got to give it to you, boy, you've been a golden goose 'till the end."

Bruce must deem that Tony's been – metaphorically – hit enough, because he grabs his elbow and tows him towards the door.

"Okay, and we are out of here. Obadiah, I'll be back for a friendly chat," Bruce says. 

By the tone, it won't be friendly at all and Tony is so grateful to have him. But then he remembers that he's going to fucking Washington of all places and Bruce's office is right here in LA. Another friend to leave behind.

"The Capitals are playing the Sharks tonight. You're to report to Nick Fury and Mariah Hill at the SAP Center this afternoon. I trust you can make it?" Stane says.

Okay, fuck. Not even a couple of days to process the news, and he has to dive right in? Tony wasn't even supposed to play tonight. They had the day off. 

"Yeah yeah," Tony says, not even turning around as he waves over his shoulder. "So long, Obie."

Another nasty surprise awaits as they walk out of Stane's office: they end up face to face with Justin Hammer himself. He looks positively gleeful, making it obvious that he knows about the trade. The insufferable smirk on Hammer's face makes Tony want to punch him in the nose. Maybe he could get away with it, now.

"I'd say I wish you the best," Hammer says. "But it isn't true."

Tony smiles with all his teeth. God he hates this man. "Likewise. Oh and when I play against you next? I'll destroy you. It's a promise."

Bruce has to tow Tony away again, because Hammer looks just as ready as he is to come to blows.

"Come on, he's not worth your time."

Tony scoffs. "True. Let's get out of here." 

 

**

Bruce must be worried about him, because he takes Tony back to his apartment at the Château Marmont; Tony needs to throw a couple of things in a suitcase, and Bruce is checking for a plane. In the cab ride, Tony tries to call Rhodey, but he catches his voice mail. Unable to make the words come out, he hangs up. He pulls up their last convo and sends a message instead.

_Fuck. I've been traded, man. To WASHINGTON. :(  
Fuuuuuuck :((((( had to leave immediately for San Diego_

This day sucks.

"I have a friend in Washington who works in real estate-," Bruce is saying, always practical.

"It's fine," Tony says. "Later, maybe. I'll just stay at a hotel for now."

"Fine. Don't worry, I'll help you with everything," Bruce says.

"I know, thanks Bruce."

He watches his phone, then sighs and dials again. Fuck, he hates this.

"Hello?" 

Just hearing her voice, Tony feels a little better.

"Hey Mom," Tony says.

"Tony, baby, how are you?" as always Maria's voice is warm and Tony knows he has her undivided attention.

"A bit shocked, to be honest," Tony says. "I've just been traded."

"What? To whom? How _dare_ they! I told you Obadiah Stane was bad news, I know the likes of him-"

She's off, ranting in Tony's ear and he can't help to smile. His mom is the best, his number one fan. She could have sent a nanny with him to hockey practices and games when he was little, but no, she came to every single game of his. He owes her a lot. Right now, he just wishes she was closer.

**

Joining a new team is not something Tony ever looked forward to. He supposes it's the same for everyone, though. Ever since Tony was a kid, every change in his hockey progression came with a lot of pressure. Tony started playing at 6 years old, when his mom divorced Howard and brought him to Montreal, and from then on he'd always had a spotlight on him. Competitive since the little league , big words were thrown around everywhere Tony went: natural, phenomenon, gifted. Heck, it's true, Tony is great at what he does and he knows it, but that’s not always the best way to make friends on new teams. Especially if you make guys older and bigger than you look bad in comparison. Or steal the attention and the girls from the formerly most popular players. 

The media scrutiny started early, when he was 14 years old, then got really serious at the Major Junior level. being ranked first for the draft for the national teams two years in advance, then actually being drafted first… always in the spotlight. The pressure had fed on itself and it became imperative to always be constantly good, no, make that spectacular. Of course he had to juggle school and training as he went along, but that only led to Tony getting the genius tag on top of everything since he’d managed an engineering degree when most of his teammates had cruised through on basic college requirements. The labels turned his reputation into a living, breathing thing, a huge obstacle when Tony tries to slip into an already close-knit team.

And let's just say that Tony's strategy of faking confidence became less of an act with time and success. When you're told you’re the best over and over again, it goes to your head. Well it did for him, and it might have, for a while there with occasional relapses, fallen into arrogance. Tony knows he has to work on that side of his personality; it's been made very clear to him by people he actually values the opinion of. 

On the plane to San Jose the news of his trade breaks, making immediate headlines. 

"Tony Stark traded to Washington! – What tipped the decision? One party too much or money?"

"Washington's desperate move: is Tony Stark really worth it?"

"The trade no one saw coming: Stark with the Capitals"

It seems that the hockey world is as surprised by the turns of events as he is. Tony's phone then starts to blow up with demands for interviews and other messages, so he lets everything go to voice mail, and puts the text and IM notifications to silence. He'll deal with that later, maybe. The journalists always manage to find him in the end.

Leaving the news and speculations aside, Tony reads on his new team instead. The Capitals have been struggling, and they haven't made the series for the last two years. The team's not bad, they have one of the best goalies in the league, Steve Rogers – the guy is like a brick wall in front of the net – but they just don't score enough goals. Tony guesses that's his job now. It makes him feel a little better, because scoring goals is what he does best. Maybe his new teammates will be de facto happy to learn Tony's joining the team.

At the Shark Tank, upon reaching the front desk, Tony is immediately brought to an office. He rolls his suitcase and follows the security guard.

The guy must be about his age and keeps looking at Tony as if he wants to say something, but doesn't dare. In the end, he only knocks on the door that Nick Fury opens.

"Good, you're here," Fury says, looking at Tony. He smiles and offers his hand. "Nick Fury, please come in."

"Nice to meet you, Coach," Tony says, shaking hands. 

In the room, he sees that the General Manager of the Capitals has made the trip. Tony doesn’t know if she travels a lot with the team on away trips, but it's nice that she is here to welcome him.

"Miss Hill," Tony says with his most charming smile as they shake hands too. "It's definitely a pleasure to meet you too!"

Maria Hill is an extremely successful businesswoman who decided a couple of years back that she wanted to tackle the hockey establishment. It wasn't necessarily easy, but she is extremely respected and has done a lot to build the Capitals back up from abysmal years. She's barely 34 and absolutely gorgeous, on top. 

"Mister Stark," she replies with a knowing smile. It says something like 'my poor child, you have no chance'. Tony is inexplicably charmed nonetheless and grins even wider. 

"Please, call me Tony."

"We've gambled quite a lot on you," Fury says, sitting on the corner of the desk. "How do you feel about that?"

It's true. Barnes is an established player in his prime, and was an important piece of the Capital's anemic offence. Billy Kaplan had future star player written all over him, and Tony had played with or against the young Teddy Altman a couple of times in the minors, the kid had been a first round pick the year before. Washington giving the Kings a first pick at the draft this year on top made it clear that if the goal had been to rebuild the team in a few years, the Capitals had sacrificed some very solid building blocks for him.

"The way I see it, you bet on me to win the Cup this year." 

They don't nod or visibly acknowledge it, but clearly Tony's right. It makes no sense otherwise. 

"And?" Maria asks. 

"I don't see why not," Tony says. "I've checked the stats on the plane. Lots of your games ended up in shootouts, or lost by one goal. Combined with very few games where you've scored more than two yourselves, it hurt your ranking. Keep that defense strong and give me good wingers, and you'll win more than you lose." 

" _We_ will win more than _we_ lose," Fury says. "We're a team, and now you are part of it."

"Yes, Sir," Tony says. " _We_ will kick some ass."

Fury and Hill smile, and it's a bit less pressure, somehow. He had such an abysmal relationship with Hammer, Tony figures it doesn't hurt to make an effort to fit in properly.

"I've got to say I had my doubts-" Fury starts and Hill interrupts him.

"Nick-"

Fury holds up a hand. "No, no, he needs to hear this. You have a reputation, out of the ice."

There they go. Tony rocks back on his heels, already defensive. Why does everyone always try to tell him how to live his life?

"Want it or not, eyes are on you, even off the ice. There's that to think of. But what matters to me is that you are at 100% when you put skates on."

"Got it. No parties the nights before games. Is that good enough?" Tony asks, tilting his head. He cannot help the defiant tone. The resolution to keep things smooth with the new coach is rapidly evaporating. As for being reasonable before a game, to be honest he has started doing just that in the last year, not that anyone but Rhodey seemed to notice. 

"Look, Tony," Maria says. "You're a superstar, young, rich, you name it. You like having fun, and there is nothing wrong with that. But we're just asking that you be smart about it."

"Fair enough," Tony concedes. "Oh, and is my bisexuality something I have to hide? Just asking." 

Tony has never officially came out, not through interviews. He could, but he doesn't want to tag another label to his name. He's a hockey player, and wants to be referred as such. Not the bi-hockey player. Selfish? Yes, maybe. He knows it would be good for educating the masses, and break stereotypes about athletes. But given that he's pretty much portrayed as a slut already, it sure wouldn't help bisexuals trying to get away from that kind of reputation. Not wanting to proclaim he's bisexual in public is one thing, and Tony thinks it's his own choice, but he draws a very clear line at actually hiding it.

"Of course not," Hill says. She seems appalled that he asked.

"I don't give a fuck who you sleep with, as long as they are legal," Fury adds. 

He looks so done and Tony has a feeling that needling him might become a thing he does for sport. Like poking a bear. Maybe it's not a smart idea, but Tony's never been quite good with self-restraint in the face of fun.

"Also fair enough," Tony agrees. "I'm playing tonight, right?"

"Damn right you are," Fury says. "Let's get you set up."

 

**

The Capital's Equipment Manager is a stocky man called Harold Hogan. His enthusiasm upon meeting Tony is endearing.

"I shouldn't say this," Hogan says. He looks around, but they are alone in the locker room, the rest of the team is on the ice already. "I wouldn't want to make anyone jealous. But I'm a big fan." He puts new gloves on the bench beside Tony. "I saw you play in the U-17 back in 2011 and it was beautiful."

"Winnipeg? Yeah, good times," Tony says. One of his best souvenirs in the minors. "I don't want to step on toes, but I usually sharpen my skates myself," Tony says, looking critically at the blades. Oh, they seem perfectly adequate, but Tony is very peculiar about things like this. One of his few borderline superstitious habits. 

"Oh, sure, no problem," Hogan says. "What about the fit?"

After putting them on, Tony stands up, put weight on one then on the other, then wiggles his toes. It's weird, not having his own shit. He'll have to buy new laces. Maybe red ones. "They're fine until I get the custom ones from Bauer. Thank you Mr. Hogan."

"Happy, please," Hogan says with a smile. "Everyone calls me Happy. So you're all set?"

"I'm all set," Tony confirms, putting on the new gloves. Yeah, he'll have to break in everything before they feel just right. 

Being ready and dressed up means that he has to go to the ice and the end of Fury's afternoon practice. Meet his new teammates at last. Tony's nervous and he hates it. As he nears the ice, he notes that the guys haven't seen him yet, as they are currently practicing shooting on the goalies. Fury's dressed all in black, from skates to turtleneck, a whistle around his neck. He was keeping an eye out because he whistles a sharp blow as soon as Happy opens the door for Tony to hop on the ice.

Tony smiles the best he can while every eyes fall on him, and skates to Fury in an eerie silence.

"As announced at the start of the practice, meet your new teammate: Tony Stark."

It's very rare, but Tony doesn't know one single player on the team, apart from having played against them here in the NHL or elsewhere. 

"Hey guys," Tony says. This is awkward. 

Rogers, who left his net, comes closer, takes off his mitt and offers his hand.

"Welcome to the team," he says. 

The words are perfect, as is the handshake, even if it is maybe a tad too brief to be friendly. Rogers is the unofficial Captain of the team, and the Capitals go around the rules with an emissary for the referees. It's Rogers' job to publicly welcome the newbies, but it's plain as day to Tony that the perfect smile that goes with the words is far from reaching his very, very blue eyes. In fact, soon after, once he has stepped aside and more guys come for a handshake and – thankfully – more enthusiastic greetings, Tony meets Rogers' eyes again, and see nothing but contempt. 

Wow, that's a great start. Tony swallows down disappointment and his knee jerk impulse to get in Roger's face for being a judgmental prick and does his best to smile through the rest of the introductions. 

**

Tony's on the bench, catching his breath between two long shifts on the ice, and he zones out for a second while fixating on his gloves, then down to his chest. It's so weird being dressed in white, red and blue. But then Fury's tapping on his shoulders, his turn again and Tony hops on the ice.

Here, in front of a crowd, where his only job is to take the puck and find any way possible to put it behind the big guy guarding the net of the other team, there is no awkwardness. Hockey is hockey and Tony's been doing this for fifteen years now, it's as easy as breathing. Plus he immediately clicked with his right-winger, Clint Barton. It's like the guy has a supernatural gift to position the puck exactly where Tony needs it. 

Not long after face off, their chemistry pays off. Tony's weaving through the Shark's defense on one side, Barton on the other. Clint takes a shot, miss by a fraction. Tony snaps the puck as soon as it's in range and scores in the top right corner. He whoops with joy. His third tonight, how’s that for a statement? The adrenaline of a good goal never, ever gets old. He’s met near the net by Barton and Lang and they all grin as celebrating spectators throw their hats down on the ice in honor of his hat trick.

"You sure know how to make an entrance!" Clint says, with a hug and a tap on his helmet. 

He's smiling wide and Tony feels like maybe everything is going to be okay.

**

After the game, the journalists had clamored for him in a way they hadn’t in a while. He’d gone through the motions still high on adrenaline, but now, finally alone in a cab, Tony finds he barely remembers what he said to them. He's also completely exhausted, physically and emotionally. On the way to the Valencia where the team is staying, he finally turns his phone back on. Tony winces when he sees the number of messages on his voice mail. Probably more interview requests. 

There are several new texts, too, and IM convos. The only one Tony is interested in is Rhodey's. The first bubble dates from earlier that afternoon.

_You'll be fine, you're Tony Stark. I'll miss you. Call me anytime, okay?_

Then, with a time stamp from an hour ago.

_See? What did I tell you? Congrats man. When we got off the plane in Detroit, Hammer was livid when he learned you scored FOUR goals._

Tony grins. In your face, jerkass.

He messages back. 

_You always know what to say to make me feel better, Honeybear._

_It's been a fucking long day, I'll call you soon._

Then, because he already does. 

_I'll miss you too._

 

**

They beat Anaheim the following night, 3-0, and Tony has one goal and an assist to Barton. And then, for his big debut in Washington, Tony scores twice, and gets one assist, in a completely electric atmosphere at the Verizon Center. Tony gets the first star and the standing ovation is loud and crazy. The local media is whipped into a frenzy, too, already painting him as a savior for the team. After just three games. 

Tony acts way more confidently than he feels: what if he gets into a slump, and doesn't score for a few games? It has happened before. Will everyone turn against him then?

For his entire career to date, Tony has been very cooperative with the press. He rarely turns down serious interviews, and he can sit at his place in the locker room for a long time to answer questions after everyone else has gone. He makes jokes, banters with the journalists, knows that he's sought after for quotes even though he tries – more and more now that he's learned the game and how to keep his emotions in check – to not say anything too controversial. It means he's often one of the last player to leave the locker room, and tonight he has a surprise in the corridor just outside of it.

"There he is!" 

For a second, Tony cannot reconcile the jovial tone and the actual person saying the words. He freezes as his father walks over and gives him a quick hug.

"Dad?"

Tony has not seen Howard… in a while. Might have been more than a year ago, at a Christmas-related benefit. He sure hasn't seen him over the last holidays.

"Hello son," Howard says, an arm thrown around Tony's shoulder. He's not alone, there's a man with him. "Tony, this is Brigadier General Talbot. I'm in town for contract negotiations. He's a big hockey fan, and I had some Loge tickets."

Oh, okay, that's what this is about. Tony smiles, the special public relations one because he's never been fond of being paraded like a gifted pony. Nevertheless, he shakes the Brigadier General's hand.

"Nice to meet you, General. I hope you enjoyed the game?" 

"Did I ever," he says, visibly enthusiastic. At least that makes one of them that gives a shit about hockey. "You were mesmerizing."

"Thank you," Tony says. 

"He always is," Howard says and Tony hates how his heart does a little pleased lurch. 

He craved that kind of recognition and show of pride from his father all of his life. But this is what, the tenth time Howard had deigned come to see him play? In fifteen years? The first few years after the divorce, Tony would see his father for a month in the summer. Looking back, he figures that Howard tried, in those few weeks, to spend time with him. They'd go to the zoo, or amusement parks, but inevitably Howard went back to work. Tony had spent a lot of time with Jarvis, who’d doted on him and called him Master Stark, which he’d thought was the coolest thing ever. 

When Tony’d turned ten, he dove into mathematics, then physics, because he thought that it would give him a way to bond with his dad. It had worked beautifully at first. He'd always remember how astonished and delighted Howard had looked when Tony had corrected a formula on a white board. That summer, he let Tony look at his experiments and they'd designed some bombs. Weird as bonding over armament was, he’d thought they’d connected and that he might see Howard during the year. Maybe even just Christmas. But no, once back in Montréal where Tony had lived with his Mom’s side of the family since the divorce, not a word. Howard forgot his birthday again, like every other year. Sent a huge gift to make up for it a week too late, as always. Tony had been furious, but mostly heartbroken.

The next summer, Tony had refused to go visit. Maria didn't insist, and as far as Tony knew, Howard didn't either. Anyway, Tony had performance hockey camps. He reasoned that even though Howard had companies to run, he had the means to come and see Tony from time to time, if he wished to. It didn't happen often, and Tony never went back for another summer.

"We are going to get a drink at the Willard, why don't you join us?"

That is a very bad idea. Tony is self-aware enough to know that if he takes one drink, it will turn into a few just to cope with the awkwardness. And then he'll get shit-faced and get in trouble with Fury, and probably lose the little brain to mouth filter he has and say things that are better left unsaid.

"Sorry, Pops, but I can't. We have a game tomorrow, and it's late already."

Howard's smile becomes a little more forced. He never liked when Tony didn't immediately agree with him. 

"What? It's barely eleven." 

Fuck, how can he get out of this? The last players are exiting the locker room and Tony shuffles to the side to let them pass.

"I know, but there's an extra practice in the morning," Tony makes up on the spot.

"Why would Fury do that?" The General asks with a frown. "The team is on a roll since they got you."

"He's a hardass like that," Tony says. "Something about not becoming too overconfident, or along those lines. And I'm new, so I better be in top shape. I need my beauty sleep."

Howard frowns. "You never used to sleep much." 

It's true, but Tony is surprised that Howard is even aware of it. 

"Or so Jarvis said," Howard adds, which elucidated that mystery.

"Yeah, no. Sports, you know? Makes me sleep like a baby," he lies through his teeth. "I really should go. Another time?"

It will be absolutely impossible for Tony to sleep before 3 in the morning, especially after this impromptu visit. And maybe even later if he doesn't touch alcohol, which he is very tempted to do. On his own. In his rented suite at the Jefferson.

His father looks annoyed now. "I'm leaving for Kabul in the morning."

"Aww, that's really too bad," Tony says, trying to look sincere.

"Hey Tony!" Barton materializes by his side. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but Fury wants to see our superstar in his office." 

He's pointing towards the locker room, not Fury's office and Tony almost blows the perfect getaway solution with a protest. But a pointed look by Barton makes it click and Tony gratefully plays along.

"What? Oh, right, I totally forgot! Sorry, Dad, General, I am being summoned," Tony says, hastily shaking hands and then backing towards the locker room. "It was great seeing you, bye bye!"

The escape into the locker room is so fast, it probably looks as if he's fleeing. Which he is. He's leaning against the wall, out of sight of the corridor, when Barton comes back in.

"Thanks for the rescue," Tony immediately says. "I owe you big."

"Set me up to score a couple more this week and we'll be square," Clint says, coming over. He peers at Tony with curiosity. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Tony says, rubbing his temples. "He took me by surprise."

"How is it that I never… Howard Stark, of Stark Industries, you know, one of the richest man in America, is your dad?" Clint asks. 

Tony raises his eyebrows. "Yes? I thought everyone knew that." 

It's not an angle the press has used often, but he's seen it. Especially when there was that piece about Tony being a genius for getting his engineering degree by the time he was eighteen. How he must have gotten the brains from his dad (which he took as an insult to his mom, who obviously was brilliant since she'd divorced the guy and set up her life far away from Howard). Though, it was true that the article was in Le Journal de Montréal, and even if it was widely read up in Québec, the info might not have spread out as far as Tony’d thought. 

"Well I didn't," Clint says. He tilts his head on the other side and it makes Tony think of a bird. "You're Canadian! I clearly remember you whipping our asses in the last World Cup!"

Tony laughs. "Dual citizenship! When they divorced, Mom took me back home. Big Italian family, in Saint-Leonard. That's Montréal. Grew up there since I was six."

"I get that Howard Stark wasn't around much?"

"Not that it's your business, but no. Made sure Mom had all the money she needed and called that parenting," Tony says. 

He wonders if it's safe to go now. Howard doesn't like to wait, he must have left as soon as Tony entered the locker room.

Clint makes a face. "Yeah, sorry, not my business. But, I've got to say, you looked like a cornered rabbit out there. I didn't think it was possible for you to be less than 100% confident."

Tony laughs. "If the world only knew!" 

"I'll check if he's gone, and if you can make your escape," Clint says, looking at Tony as if he understands him a little more. 

Maybe making friends here won't be as hard as Tony thought. Clint just proved he's already almost there. 

"Thanks again, man," he says with feeling.

Clint looks out, and gestures that the coast is clear. He'll set Clint up beautifully to score as much as he wants. He claps Clint amicably on the shoulder as he passes by, hurrying to the garage. 

Yes, things are looking up. Sure there's the whole pressure of being called a savior already, but as far as integrating the team goes, he can't complain, it's been a lot easier than he thought. Of course bringing in three wins helped. Fury is strict, but he is fair with his players, which is so refreshing after Hammer. Tony has a lot of ice time, but it's because he performs. He has no doubt that it would be scaled down if he didn't. His teammates seem to be warming up to him… except Rogers.

Frankly, Tony doesn't know what is Rogers' problem with him. Oh, the guy has been perfectly civil, told Tony he had played a good game every time, though it was almost through gritted teeth. Sometimes, Tony catches Rogers staring at him, and not in a good way. Either Tony did something without realizing it, he won't rule out that one, or it's just a total personality clash. 

Bummer. Tony knows it would be a hundred percent easier if Rogers relaxed instead of giving him the cold shoulder. There isn't much to do about it, unfortunately. He'll just have to win Rogers over little by little, with the patented Stark charm. 

He snorts to himself. 

Yeah. Right. Seems like a lost cause from the start.

**

Tony's getting dressed after practice when his phone vibrates. He still avoids the thing as if it might bite – the sheer number of unanswered mail/text/messages is scary – but since it's Bruce he takes it.

"Hey Brucie." 

"Oh my god, I might faint. You actually answered!" Bruce says, mock swooning and Tony laughs. 

"For you? Of course," he says, holding the phone to his shoulder as he buttons up his dress shirt.

"Then explain why I haven't heard back from you even after I left five messages?"

Tony winces. "Oh, that. Sorry. But hey, what can I do for you?"

"I've been receiving a lot of phone calls trying to see if you'd be interested in a move once your contact is over this summer. We've never really considered it-" 

No, they hadn't, as Tony was sure he'd play for the Kings for years to come. He'd have seen if other teams showed interest to up the bidding for his contract, but he’d never planned on leaving Los Angeles.

"- but now… I've got to ask: are there teams that are an absolute 'no'?" Bruce continues.

"Well, Los Angeles is a 'not over my dead body' situation now, for sure." 

Bruce snorts. "That's a given."

Then… well that's a good question. He tends to prefer bigger cities, and a strong fan base for the team is always fun. It was great to always have a crowd, to be a celebrity. Then again, there was such a thing as too much.

"Not closing any doors, but let's just say hometown is lower on the list."

He loves Montréal, dearly, and the Canadiens have a tremendous history. He grew up worshipping that hockey club. But he's not quite ready to enter that media circus. Maybe in a few years, now that changing teams is apparently a thing he does.

"Got it."

Tony looks around, and even though his conversation doesn't seem to be of interest to anyone, he realizes this is probably not the place to discuss it.

"So lots of calls, huh?" He asks. 

"You can't be surprised. I've got to say, though, Maria Hill wants to keep you, it's very clear. They'll do everything to match the highest offer, or that's what I'm decoding."

"That's cool," Tony says, pleased. The Capital gambled for the cup, but he'd like it even better if they were playing for keeps, too. After all, Tony will be a restricted free agent, he's bound to the Capitals if they match the highest bidder. "I'll need to think about this. I'll call you back."

"Sure. While I have you, I'll pass along a message, because some people seem to think I am your personal assistant or something," Bruce says.

"That's because you are such a consummate professional," Tony says. "The smart people know you are my better half."

"Yeah yeah, I love you too, you flatterer." Bruce sounds amused and exasperated, just like Tony prefers him. "I'll raise my commission for what you are putting me through, by the way. Call your finance guy, Greg."

"What does Greg the finance guy want from me?" Tony asks, puzzled. 

"Something about the LA Youth Centers and if you want to continue to support them? I don't know, call him."

The Maria Carbonell Foundation, or MCF, handles the philanthropic side of Tony's finances. He’d set it up when he’d signed his first NHL contract, and named it after his mom who leads the administration board. Generally, the finance people deal directly with them, even though Tony mostly has the last say on where the money goes. 

"Of course I still want to support them!" Tony says, rolling his eyes. "The Kings might be full of jackasses, but the kids don't have to pay for that. They can keep the millions, I won't go back on my word."

"That's what I thought, but I think you should call Greg the finance guy to confirm."

"I think Greg the finance guy just lost his position, because he's an idiot. I'll need a new finance guy. Can you find me a good one?"

"Yes, sure."

"Thanks Brucie-Bear." Bruce has been Tony's agent from the start, and has always been there for him.

"Not a problem. Take care, Tony. And keep up the good work, I'm proud of you."

"Awww, thanks," Tony says. The truth is that he's genuinely touched. "You're the best. Ciao."

Tony really should check his messages and call Greg his ex-finance guy, but he puts his phone in his pocket with a half-hearted promise of doing it later. A quick look around and there is Rogers, two lockers down, studiously ignoring him as usual. He's busy fixing his pillows himself with a needle and thread like the weirdo he is. Between them is Sam Wilson, sitting back in his locker, ice taped to his elbow. Sam has his headphones on and is playing Candy Crush on his phone.

"Hey, Wilson," Tony says with a wave near the phone, to get his attention.

"Yeah?" Wilson says, pulling an ear bud out.

"You've played here a while, right?" Tony asks.

"Seven years, yes," Wilson says.

"I suppose the team has events with kids sometimes?" They generally do, and Sam nods. "Who should I talk to if I want to do something with Youth Centers or the like here in DC?"

"A game with the kids?"

"Yeah, sure, that's always fun." The light in the kids' eyes when they realize they are playing with real hockey players is amazing. "But also support and funding? I have a Foundation for these things." 

"Who are you working with again, Steve?" Sam asks.

"The Welfare League," he says, looking up. His scrutiny is less hostile than usual.

"Oh. Well if you have them covered..." 

That’s a bummer. Tony doesn't want to step on toes, especially not Rogers', but the goalie shakes his head. 

"No, no, it's great if you want to help too. There is so much need."

"Unfortunately," Sam says.

Rogers looks Tony up and down and seems to come to a decision. He puts his needlework aside and stands up.

"Are you free right now? I was planning on going today. I could introduce you to Grant Bohen."

Tony blinks, a bit shocked at the sudden overture. "Yes, sure, thanks."

Sam grins, and slaps Rogers' thigh for a reason Tony doesn't get. Rogers rolls his eyes and is already striding for the door.

"We'll take my car," Steve says.

"Good idea, because I don't have any of mine here yet," Tony replies.

**

Tony doesn't know why he's surprised: of course the kids squeal with delight when Rogers enters a class at the Center. It's a group of tiny ones, doing an art class or something arcane involving glitter. About point three seconds after they spot him, Rogers is being swarmed and used as a living jungle gym. The 'Steeeve! Steeeeeeve!'s are high pitched and enthusiastic, that’s for sure.

If he hadn't followed him from the locker room to here, Tony would be wondering if the man laughing and swinging a kid on his arm is a clone or a twin of the Rogers he’s played hockey with for the last six days.

Rogers is relaxed, at ease, and grinning so wide it transforms his whole face. The 'God he's gorgeous' feeling slams into Tony, which frankly shouldn't be such a shock either. Of course he’d noted the attractiveness, and frankly anyone with sense had to admit that Rogers' body is to die for. But smiling like this? And at ease with munchkins in a way that countered how abrasive he has been? Tony finds himself hopelessly charmed.

There's a timid tug on his jacket, and Tony looks down. A little girl, hard to say her age but maybe seven or eight, is looking up at him with big round brown eyes.

"Hello sweetheart," he says with a smile.

"You're Tony Stark," she says, confident.

"Yes I am! What's your name?"

"Emma." She grins. "You are Tony Stark!” She repeats, gleeful. "31 goals and 29 assists for 60 points, 5th in the league for points as of last night. Two years ago you won the Calder Trophy _and_ the  Art Ross because of your 135 point season."

Tony whistles, impressed. He can relate though, he was one of those kids. He grabs a plastic chair and sits, so they are the same height. 

"Wow, you sure know a lot about me."

"You are the best player the Capitals have had in decades," she says and it sounds like something she's repeating from hearing it at home. Emma then looks conflicted, and glances back at her classmates now circling Steve who is signing autographs. Or not. Is he drawing? Emma looks back at him. "Apart from Steve, of course."

"Of course," Tony nods gravely. "But you know what? It's totally unfair, I know nothing about the beautiful Emma, it's a tragedy. What grade are you in?"

Emma grins, and starts babbling, telling him all about her third grade teacher, Mrs. Owen, , that she listens to all of the hockey games with her dad if they are not too late, and about how she wants to be just like Maria Hill when she grows up. Tony nods, questions her in the right places, and before he knows it Rogers is back at his side. 

"Hi Emma," he says, and she hugs his legs.

"Hi Steve!" She points at Tony. "It's Tony Stark! The Tony Stark!"

Rogers' smile is crooked, but amused. "Oh, I know. Sorry I've made you wait Tony, we can go see Bowen now if you want."

"Please, it was not a bother. I had the pleasure of meeting Emma. Time well spent."

Emma, who had a wide smile up until a moment ago, is frowning now, going through a box of crayons. She picks a blue one, a scrap of paper too, and extends them to Tony.

"Could I please have an autograph?"

"Well sure, darling," Tony says as he signs it. He could do a lot better. "Could you do something for me?"

She nods gravely.

"A smarty-pants like you writes well, right?" Another nod. "Can you make a list of all of your friends here, and tell me what their favorite teams are, and what name and number they'd like on the back of a jersey? It's okay if it's not hockey, and if it's not me. It could be their own names, too."

Emma is grinning again. "For real?"

"Sure! I'll come and get the list before I go."

"Thank you!" She runs to her friends, excited, and Tony gets up.

"They are going to love it," Steve says.

"Doesn’t take much. And what do you want to bet that it's going to be almost all Capitals jerseys with number one and Rogers on the back? I’d say at least ninety percent."

Steve smiles and yeah, that's better than his icy look. It makes Tony’s stomach flutter and he knows, right here and now that if he isn't careful he'll develop feelings.

"There's going to be at least one number 46 with Stark."

"Well. I am The Tony Stark, after all," he replies with a wink. "So you've been working with these kids for a while?"

"Yes, I'm funding their art program. There are classes for the little ones, but there's also a project with murals for at-risk teens. They do great work."

"Cool."

They have reached the Executive Director's office, and the receptionist makes eyes at Rogers. Girl has a big, big crush, it's obvious, and she doesn't even spare Tony a glance. So much for being The Tony Stark, he thinks with amusement. Once they are patched through to the boss and have introduced themselves, Tony goes straight to the point.

"I haven't seen your sports facilities, here or elsewhere in the city, but I'm offering to finance what needs to be fixed, or even built if it comes to that. Also I'd pitch in to get new equipment as you see fit. Balls, roller skates, gloves, actual skates, whatever you might need. Oh and salary for coaches, if you need that, that's fine too."

Bowen's eyebrows raise. "That is very generous of you, Mister Stark, thank you."

Tony can see the gears turning in the man's head. He's already wondering how much he can ask for with all the needs he has.

"Excellent, I'll be happy to help. Send your detailed proposition of how you'd use the money to my foundation, MCF, and we'll get the ball rolling." Tony takes a pen and writes down the foundation's email on a post it pad on Bowen’s desk. "I was thinking about a million a year for the next five?"

Bowen blinks at him, mouth a little slack, which Tony supposes is a sign the offer is acceptable. "And no need to make a big deal out of it, okay? Unless you think it could be used to get more funds."

"Oh. I- wow." He shakes Tony’s hand with emotion. In fact Bowen looks like he’s about to cry and that makes Tony uncomfortable. Tony glances at Steve who looks just as stunned, and is no help at all. "I am speechless. That is amazing, thank you, thank you!"

"My pleasure. So, keep in touch? Oh and I'll send jerseys for the kids downstairs. If other regulars want some too, just send the requests to the Foundation. That's separate."

"Okay." Bowen has taken the post it and is all but holding it to his heart. "Thank you."

"Okay, bye now." Tony slips out of Bowen’s office, Rogers on his heels.

They are going down the stairs to get the list back from Emma when Steve finally speaks up.

"I think you broke him."

Tony snorts. "He'll bounce back. You're sure this place is well run, right? It will go to the kids?"

"Oh, I’m sure," Steve says. "It will make a big difference for them. It's extremely generous of you."

"Please," Tony says, waving it off. They're back at the classroom, and Emma immediately runs to him, smiling widely.

"Hey princess! Got my list?"

"Yes!" She says, handing it over.

At the top of the page, next to her name, he sees Capitals – 46 - Stark, and gives her a high five as she giggles. "That's my girl!"

"For always," she says, hearts in her little eyes. Tony wants to keep her in his pocket forever.

When he scans the rest of the list he smirks, and then slaps the paper on Rogers' chest. That feels as nice and firm as it looks, by the way.

"I knew it," he tells him with a wink.

The rest of the page is an uninterrupted series of Capitals – 1 - Rogers.

**

Since the visit to the Youth Center, Steve and Tony started talking more. Bantering would be a better term though, as they seem to get into arguments on the weirdest thing. There's been the classic divide about pineapple on pizza (appalling to Steve), Batman vs Superman (Tony is team Bruce), the effectiveness of curfews (bullshit), and they even got into religion one afternoon (not Tony's thing at all, let's leave it at that) but stopped when they were accused of bickering like an old married couple. Clint was not entirely wrong, and frankly Tony lives for riling Rogers up. Steve gets very passionate and it makes his cheek flush and his eyes an unreal blue. He's never mean, though, and Tony counts it as a win when he can make Steve laugh.

It's not like Rogers was particularly overt in his distaste before they started interacting, he's too much of a professional for that, but now that he's mellowed towards Tony the atmosphere’s relaxed in the locker room. Of course that might also be because they’d won 6 games in a row, lost one in shootouts, and then went on to win 4 more. The press is still going nuts, the odds of the Capitals making the series are rapidly improving, especially since they won against teams in their division. Even Fury smiles these days. 

As for Tony, he keeps setting up Barton to score in reward for the Howard save, even when he has a clean shot or an open net. He gets shit from Fury for it, but the maneuver seems to surprise the oppositions’ goalies every time. Since Clint scores more often than not, they get away with it. Of course Tony keeps a couple of goals for himself, the temptation being so sweet, but as long as he's helping the team win, he's happy. In eleven games with the Capitals, he's got a pretty damn fantastic 15 goals and 17 assists. It's his hottest streak since his record-breaking rookie year, and he often has a little thought for Obadiah and Hammer. Take that, assholes. 

What would be even better to really rub it in is to continue like that, make the light shine behind the net as much as he can. But some defensemen are more difficult to go around than others, and Tony's having an off night against the Jets. There are only minutes to go in the game and the score is still zero to zero. Tony's been robbed of a goal tonight, a ref saying he touched the goalie, which he didn't. Well he doesn't recall doing it, anyway, it gets busy in front of the net. Also fucking Logan has managed to make him lose the puck all night, shadowing him so closely it's like Tony can constantly feel his breath on his neck.

"Dammit Logan, why don't you just get in my pants while you're at it?" Tony says as he's held against the boards, behind the Jets' net. 

"Nah, not my type," Logan says, as they battle for the puck with their skates. 

"You give a guy the wrong impression," Tony says, but he's pushed aside – God Logan is one strong fucker – and it's Wade Wilson who swoops in and steals the puck.

"Thanks guys, I'll take this," Wade says, already skating towards Rogers.

"Fuck," Tony curses. 

Fortunately Sam manages to slow Wade down and Rogers makes a breathtaking save, as he's done all night. The game doesn't stop, as the puck ricocheted in the corner and then behind the net. Fury is making a line change on the fly, just like the Jets. When Tony sees that Logan is already getting on his bench so another defensemen takes his place, he doesn't push to go sit too, he just slows down.

"Gimme 20 secs!" he yells at Fury.

Fury frowns, annoyed, but he nonetheless grabs the collar of Quill's jersey before he topples on the ice and pulls him back on the bench. With his other hand he does a 'go on' motion at Tony, who doesn't waste a second. He has to move fast, before the Jets send in Logan again. Thank fuck Sam spots him and manages to aim for the puck to leave their zone in his general direction. 

It's a race and Tony is fortunately the first player to touch it. He nudges the puck between a pair of skates and then twirls around a defensemen; yep, that was easier than it had been all night. He needs to reach with only one hand on his stick, but he manages to take control of the puck again and he's skating as fast as he can towards the Jets' goaltender. The guy has been frustrating him all night long, stopping everything thrown his way. Now that they are one against one, Tony decides to go with finesse, something impossible when he had Logan on his back. He feints snapping to the right corner over the shoulder, and even clips the ice hard for the sound. When the goalie moves in that direction as Tony hoped, he keeps control of the puck and slides it around and left, in the opening between the goalies' skate and the post. 

It's like the roof of the Verizon Center lifts, the roar deafening as the red light shines. Tony does a celebrating move with his hockey stick and he only has time to turn around before he's in the middle of a Capitals huddle, the guys hooting and grinning at him. 

He’s about to skate back to the bench when Fury points at the clock and then to center ice. Only six seconds to go, Tony hadn't realized it was so close. He salutes his coach and goes to the face-off dot, Clint taking back his spot to his right.

"Oh there you are!" Tony teases.

"Looks like you didn't need me for that one," Clint says, grinning. 

"Hey, hey, Tony," Wade says as the get in place in front of him for the face-off. "Do you think you can reach the longest consecutive point-scoring streak? I mean, you're still far-" 

He's still babbling as the referee comes over, holding the puck. It's Wade's thing, he always talks and talks, trying to distract, and Tony must be careful. There is very little time left on the clock, but Wade's cunning, and the Jets took out their goalie and added Pietro, who is a fast motherfucker. 

"-I mean, 51 games is a long, long streak and it's the Great One, you know?" he continues. It's working, he's getting on Tony's last nerve, who wants for this game to be over and won.

"Wade, don't you ever shut up?" Tony asks.

"Pot, kettle," the referee says dryly. 

It makes Clint laughs and yeah, touché. Tony does throw remarks to annoy his face-off adversaries all the time.

"I'm wounded, Tony, wounded," Wade says. "I thought we were Canadian Bros. That we'd make sparks together in Sokovia."

"We will, Wade." True. The Olympics break is coming very fast. Somehow, it had almost slipped his mind with the trade and the new team. In Sokovia, he'll play with both Wade and Logan, not against. "But for now I have a hockey game to win, how about that?"

"Enough, shut up, both of you," the ref says and finally drops the puck. 

To Tony's endless frustration, Wade wins the face-off and Pietro takes control. Fortunately Rogers is ready and he catches a very hard snap shot with his mitt, just as the green light shines signaling the end of the game. Cue a victory huddle around Rogers, and Tony's heart flips when Steve grabs him in a hug and bumps their helmets together, grinning wide. 

"That goal was _amazing_!" Steve says. Good God, he's beautiful.

"Just like that save, baby," Tony replies automatically, head bumping him again because he doesn't know what to do with his emotions.

They skate to the bench shoulder to shoulder and yeah, Tony's in trouble.

 

**

Tony's busy bantering via text with Rhodey in the back of the cab, but at one point he looks up and frowns. They aren't in the city anymore; in fact the road is pretty dark and Tony wonders where the hell they are. The cab driver continues on, music muted in the front, as if everything is normal. For a moment Tony wonders if something weird is going on. He remembers how at eight years old he'd had a conversation with some his Dad's men on how to react if he ever got kidnapped. He'd been worried for months, after that, even back in Montréal. 

He pulls up the map app, and types in Clint's address just to be sure. It turns out it's indeed the right way to go. Clint's house is so far from downtown, it's not even in the suburbs anymore. They arrive ten minutes later, and Tony gives the cabbie more than twice the cab fare plus tip: no way will that poor guy catch another customer to bring back in the city from here. 

"Thank you, Sir," the man says with a grin.

"Have a good night," Tony says, stepping out. 

There are several cars in the long driveway, more on the side of the road, and it seems that Tony is a bit late to the party. The mix of sports cars and SUVs he's seen at the arena confirms that he's in the right place. A thumping bass line is coming from the house, bright with lights. A quick look around shows that neighbors shouldn't complain, because there are no fucking neighbors close by. Tony snorts and shakes his head. He expected Clint to live right in the center of the city, maybe in a high rise: this is a farmhouse. 

Another surprise as Tony walks towards the front door is a ball and a little bike tipped on its side in the front lawn. Kids live here. Everything points towards Clint being married with children, living on a farm. Wonders never cease.

He doesn't bother knocking, no one will even hear him with the racket inside. There are a couple of guys intently playing Super Mario Kart in the living room, but most of the noise comes from downstairs. He's not even sure he's been spotted by the Wii players, they are too engrossed in their profanity laden game, so he goes down the stairway. As he reaches the basement, Tony finds out it's in fact a glorified playroom with pool table, dart board, foosball and an air hockey table. There is, in a corner, also a plastic child kitchenette and shelves full of toys. Most of the team is present, either playing at one game or another or lounging in various sofas and chairs. A couple of the guys brought their wives or girlfriends, whom of course are all drop dead gorgeous. A cheer comes up when he enters the room and Tony smiles, making a peace sign. 

"There you are!" Clint says, appearing at his side with two beers in hand. 

He offers one before realizing it's his, therefore almost finished, and then gives Tony the full one instead. 

"Thanks," Tony says, taking a gulp. He's more of a hard liquor guy, maybe he should have brought his own. "I would have been here earlier if you didn't live in the fucking country, Clint. What the hell? I think I saw a barn outside!"

Clint laughs, and throws a heavy arm around Tony's shoulders. Yeah, he's had several drinks already, that much is obvious.

"There _is_ a barn outside! With my tractor!" He then sighs mournfully. "Unfortunately it's broken. I need to call for someone to come and fix it."

"I could have a look," Tony offers. It's been a while since he played with machinery, he misses it. 

"You know how to fix tractors?" Clint asks, scrunching his nose.

"Yeah. I used to tinker with motors all the time," Tony says. 

"Nice. Come by anytime." Clint then frowns. "But damn, is there anything you're not good at?"

Tony laughs. "Relationships?"

Clint finds it funny. 

"Good one! But you are young, grasshopper. You just need to find the right one, like me. I'd introduce you my Laura, but she's at her parents with the kids."

"Another time, then. Kids, huh?"

"Yeah," he says, beaming. "Two, and a third on the way."

"Congrats," Tony says. 

"Hey Barton!" Sam calls from the back of the room. "C'mere and let's play some darts!"

There's a collective 'ohhhh' as if it's a challenge with history.

"Seriously Wilson?" Clint asks. He leaves Tony to stroll towards Sam. "You really want to be humiliated again?"

Tony's scans the room, looking for Steve. No, it doesn't have anything to do with Clint's words that one day he will find the right person, that is just coincidence (sure). Does Steve come to team parties? He supposes so, if only to make an appearance. Maybe Tony got here too late and he's already gone. Tony suddenly has a terrible thought that maybe Steve has a wife and kids, too. He should have checked or asked, before he started getting all giddy for the guy. It would be logical, too, Steve's definitely a catch. And if he's single, the odds that he might be bi or gay are not in Tony's favor. God, Tony's definitely getting ahead of himself here, as he tends to do when he genuinely likes someone.

He finally spots Steve's blond hair poking over the top of a sofa in front of another game console and TV. Upon closer inspection, he's just watching an ongoing Assassin's Creed game, and Tony sits beside him.

"Hey there handsome," Tony says. 

Steve looks at him and grins. Yeah, he's in trouble alright, because that simple smile gives Tony butterflies. 

"Tony! Hi! I thought you decided not to come."

Just like Clint, it's obvious that Steve is tipsy, on his way to drunk. Parties in Washington must start a lot earlier than Tony is used to, or maybe it's just this particular one that Clint set up because they've reached the Olympic break. In a day or two, several of them will join their National teams.

"Tony Stark missing a party?" Tony says, rising his eyebrows. "That never happens."

Steve has turned towards him, arm on the top of the couch behind Tony.

"See, that's what I heard, too. But I don’t think it's true," he says. 

Tony laughs. "At the risk of disappointing you, it's very true."

"You've haven’t been partying since you arrived," Steve insists.

"That's more a question of not knowing anyone to party with, though," Tony says. 

He had his usual hangouts in LA, and maybe not actual friends, but lots of acquaintances would ask him to join them all the time. That just didn't happen here, and Tony had found himself glad for the break. Plus it'd been going so well on the ice, he had been reluctant to mess it up even on the nights before a day off. 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Bullshit, I know some of the guys asked if you wanted to tag along after games. I heard them."

"True." 

It had happened at first, but he'd turned them down because of the promise Tony had made to Fury that he would stay clean before a game. They'd stopped asking after a couple of flimsy excuses, and Tony wasn't that broken-hearted about it. Any time he could just go to them and ask where to go out and he'd have instant party-ready buddies. Tony admits it's a bit surprising he hasn't. 

"Anyway," Tony says with a shrug. "I'll eventually end up in the gossip rags, I'm very good at that," he says, taking a swig of his beer.

Steve frowns, tries to grab the bottle, but he's lacking his usual coordination too much to succeed. "You shouldn't drink. You are underage."

Tony hovers between amused and annoyed. 

"Can I point out how ironic it is that you're telling me this while on your way to being drunk?"

It makes Steve pause, but shake his head. "I'm not underage."

"If they were serious about preventing underage drinking, barmen wouldn't serve me," Tony says. "Newsflash, they don't care! They are more than happy to keep the booze coming in return for a somewhat celebrity in their establishment. And on top of that, I'll turn 21 in less than four months, Steve. I've been legal to drink at home for years."

The argument is met with a pout. "But not here. It's not good, not for the image-"

"If you start on how it hurts the wonderful sport of hockey-" Tony interrupts.

"No! Yes, because kids look up to us, but no! I mean it hurts your image!" Poor Steve looks honestly disgruntled about this. "Everyone says how irresponsible you are, the attitude, partying all night, sleeping around, throwing away your money and talent…"

"Gee, thanks," Tony snorts, taking another sip. Someone's been reading up, or his reputation is just that well known around the league. He wouldn't be surprised, Hammer was the first to feed the rags about how hard Tony was to handle.

"But it's not you!" Steve says, passionate.

Tony scrunches his nose. "That's sweet, but it does sound a lot like me."

"What about how you never miss training?" Steve asks.

Tony won't say, but it has a lot to do with the fact that seeing Steve work out is a wet dream come true. He's been a lot more diligent about it in Washington.

"And you practice hard, and you never – ever – give up, and the charities, don't even start me on the charities," Steve continues, fervent He grabs Tony's shoulder, shakes him a little. "Tony, I've read about MCF, and it finances the Youth Center in LA, and even more to some organization for underprivileged children in Montreal, and here, and you tell them not to make a big deal about it?"

"I'm not doing it for the publicity!" Tony protests. "It's not about that."

"I knoooow!" Steve is really fired up about this. It's absolutely adorable, if you ask him. "But dammit, Tony, I've added it up and you give at least four million a year!"

That sounds about right. "Yes?" He still fails to see how this is relevant.

"You can’t even make that kind of money with an entry level contract! Not even with the awards and bonuses!" Steve says, throwing up his arms. "It's insane!"

Tony laughs. "Steve, honey, you don't get it. I was filthy rich even before playing hockey. If you look in a dictionary, next to 'privileged' there's a picture of this handsome face," he says, gesturing to it. "It would be terrible if I didn't at least try to give back. I know it sounds bad to say it like this, but I don't need the money from my hockey contract. Plus there are the sponsors, they bring in a lot too."

"Maybe. But the journalists should talk about the good things, too," Steve says, petulant.

"It doesn't sell as much. People prefer scandals. And frankly? If the press looked closer they would probably say I don't give enough, and they'd be right. I am setting stuff up right now with MCF."

"Four million is a lot. You are not being obligated to give," Steve says.

"Yeah, but before my first season, after getting my engineering degree, I worked for my Dad in the summer and came up with a miniaturized reactor that has been bringing in hundreds of millions to the company. And when I turn 21, I'll get control of a trust fund that would make some people on the Forbes 400 list weep with envy. Daddy-o will probably hate me for it, but lot of it is going to go to the Foundation too. It's the least I can do."

"See? You're a good person," Steve says, with a nod, tapping Tony's thigh. 

"Glad you changed your mind about that," Tony says, warmed to the core. "At first I was worried you'd bite my head off, you hated me so much."

Steve sighs, and he looks chastised. "Yeah, sorry, I was a dick. It's just…" he stops, and his eyes go distant. "Bucky, you know? I miss him so fucking much."

Okay, so that's a piece of the puzzle Tony didn't have. Steve eyes are almost filling up with tears, for God's sake. He swallows hard and it's like Tony doesn't exists anymore as he stands up and announces he needs a drink. 

"Don't mind Cap," says one of the XBox players, Quill, as Tony watches Steve walking away. "He's an emotional drunk. He'll be okay tomorrow."

"Him and Barnes were close, huh?" Tony asks.

Peter snorts. "That's one way to say it. They lived together, too. But they'll be fine."

Ouch, so a giant piece of the puzzle, then. It's like Tony's stomach sank with the news. Of course Steve hated the trade and Tony in particular for separating him from his boyfriend. Life definitely sucks. He needs another drink too.

 

**

A second new team in less than two months, it's been a while since Tony's life had been this eventful professionally. But this is Team Canada, and Tony is totally at ease when strolling into the locker room at the Novi Grad Ice Dome. He knows those guys, has played with a lot of them either in the Junior Worlds, the regular Worlds, or even growing up in the little league. As if to prove his point, the first guy he meets inside the room is JP Beaubier, who Tony first met when he was eight years old and playing Novice A.

"Hé ben si c'est pas Tony Stark, le sauveur des Capitals," he exclaims, coming for a handshake and a hug, grinning. "Comment ça va?"

Tony laughs. "Qu'est-ce que t'en penses Northstar? I'm doing great, thanks. You?"

"Not bad at all."

They weren't from the same neighborhood, but they were both from Montréal and they shared elite teams throughout the little leagues, making the opposite goalies lives' miserable. Tony wouldn't say that they are close friends, but they definitely get along with the length of their shared experience. Northstar is a great hockey player, and chose to be worshipped as a demi-God when he signed with the Montréal Canadiens for his new contract. 

"Tony!" Wade says, bounding over. "See? Canadian Bros at last."

"Of course. How are you Wilson? I thought you busted a knee the other day?" Tony had seen the footage in the highlight reels, it hadn't been pretty.

There was talk of ACL damage, every player's nightmare along with concussions. 

Wade waves it off. "Nah, I'm alright. Ready to kick some international ass, my friends."

It's like Wade is made of rubber, he always heals so miraculously. A lot like Logan, in fact, who is also a part of this fantastic Team Canada. Tony for sure prefers having Logan with him than against.

"Gentlemen, this is all very nice but we're not here for a social gathering," Coach Coulson says, walking into the locker room. "We have limited time for practice before our first preliminary round game, and I want to go though the system first."

"I'm curious, can we practice on skates this time?" Tony asks, making the guys laugh.

At the orientation camp, last August in Calgary, they had to play ball hockey because Hockey Canada didn't want to pay the very steep insurance premium in case someone got hurt. It was a bit ridiculous, everyone agreed on that.

"We do indeed, Mister Stark, unless I decide you in particular are not," Coulson says, but it's not devoid of humor. 

Tony raises his hand defensively. "I said nothing!"

He likes Coulson, he's had him as a Coach back when he was an AAA Midget and he's always been fair, though impervious to bullshit. 

"That would be too much to ask, wouldn't it?" Coulson says. He comes over for a handshake and it's accompanied by a wink, so all is good. "Glad to have you on board, Stark. I'd appreciate if you continued that red hot streak of yours."

"I plan on it," Tony says. 

He doesn't see why not, especially since international hockey with less body checking and with bigger ice surfaces is definitely to his advantage.

A bit later on the ice, Tony is even more convinced it's going to be great when already in practice having Wade and Northstar as wingers is like dynamite. 

This is fun, everyone is happy after the first practice, even Coach Coulson. The only downside is that Tony hasn't seen Steve in four days now, not since Clint's party, and he realizes he misses him. It's not very smart to pine after a man who is taken, Tony's perfectly aware of that. But when has his heart ever listened to his head? 

Absolutely never. 

**

It's Tony's first time at the Olympics and he's bummed that because of the NHL schedule and the traveling he couldn't be part of the opening ceremonies. The atmosphere is great, though, and they are bunking in the Olympic Village in Sokovia's capital with most of the rest of the athletes, save the ones at the mountain facilities. The rooms are a far cry from the luxury hotels Tony has grown accustomed to, but it reminds him of trips to Val d'Or in the Major Juniors. He's rooming with Northstar, and they each have a tiny twin bed that made Tony laugh when he first saw them. It was a little less funny when Tony woke up with a jolt in the middle of the night with one hand on the floor, breaking his fall. Having slept in large beds all of his life, he generally takes up a lot of space.

Team Canada's first game of the preliminary round is against Austria, and it's a walk in the park with a 5-0 win. Tony gets two goals, Northstar one and Wade has been setting them up beautifully all night. The very next day is versus Finland, and that proves to be a lot trickier. Coach Coulson makes a couple of pointed comments about overconfidence between the second and third period, which fires up Tony's competitive nature. Yes, he's confident, but it's deserved. He'll show everyone how this game is played. They win in overtime, when Wade catches one of his rebounds and puts it behind the goalie.

A very nice perk of the tournament is that Rhodey is part of Team USA, and it's a delight to hang out with him again. Talking on the phone and texting isn't the same as annoying him in real life – Tony has missed the epic eye rolls.

"I caught the last period," Tony tells him when he catches Rhodes exiting Team USA's locker room. "You were amazing, Jimmybean!"

James grins. "Thanks! It's good to play center again."

"You're an amazing winger, one of the best I've ever played with. But as I've been saying for a good long time, you deserve to play as a center more than once in a blue moon," Tony says. 

"Yeah, I've heard the epic rants before," Rhodey says, jabbing an elbow into Tony's side. "It usually comes just before the alphabetic listing of all of Hammer's faults."

"Please," Tony says. "It's a given. Tell me, how much more arrogant is he as Coach for Team USA? Does his head fit in the door? I am so glad I was raised in Canada."

"Tony, don't start," Rhodey says with a sigh. "Some of us still need to work with him, you know."

"Sorry, sorry," Tony says, though he isn't sorry at all. "Maybe he'll see how magical you are here and keep his common sense once back in LA. I mean, one could dream."

"Magical? Who's magical? You guys rang?" It's Clint, all smiles because of Team USA's victory. 

"Good game, buddy," Tony says, doing the elaborate handshake he's built up with Clint for weeks now. 

"Thanks. Missing me already?" Clint says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Not really, I came to see my brother from another mother," Tony scoffs, resting his head on Rhodey's shoulder. 

Because he's a saint and used to his antics, Rhodey just shrugs as Tony snuggles close. 

"I can't seem to get rid of him."

"Aww, don't be like this," Tony pouts. 

"I'm more than happy to take him off our hands when we get back in the Show. My stats have never looked so good," Clint says with a wink at Tony. They repeat the handshake as he leaves. "See you later!"

Tony's attention is diverted to the swinging locker room door again, because that is Steve's laugh and Tony might be in withdrawal. Steve is, as usual, a sight for sore eyes, even in the frankly terrible American tracksuits. Earlier, as Tony watched the game, as soon as the puck was in the USA zone, he couldn't tear his eyes away from Steve. How he moved, always hyper-vigilant, calling shots for his team because someone had to do it and Hammer seemed over his head with such a fast game. And of course, Steve had been exceptional in front of the net, as he tended to be. 

Right now he's just Steve though, smiling and beautiful, and Tony might be slightly mesmerized. Until he notices whom Steve is grinning at: yeah, that is frigging Bucky Barnes with his long hair, pretty blue eyes and pouty mouth. Jealousy is irrational and ugly, but what Tony feels right now is a lot more like a deep, encompassing envy. Barnes is one lucky sonofabitch. They are so taken with each other that neither of them notice the bright red and white intruder in their mist. It's also possible that Tony maneuvers to keep Rhodey between him and the pair as they leave the locker room. As soon as they are gone, his friend speaks up.

"Really, Tones?" he asks.

"What?" Tony replies defensively.

"I saw the cow eyes, man. Don't even try to deny it. Rogers, for real? Didn't you spend hours telling me he was rude and a prick?"

Tony sighs. "Yeah. But it's okay now. He's cool. And have you seen him? Good Lord."

"Oh boy." Rhodey shakes his head. "Okay, come on. Let's go watch something, okay? What about curling? You Canadians love that shit, right?"

"Oh, fuck you," Tony says with a snort. "No, let's go see speed skating. We should get a couple of medals at least."

"Fine. Lead the way," Rhodes says. 

**

He has played before hostile crowds before, but this is insane. Sure, there is some red in the stands, the Canadian fans are nothing if not dedicated to follow the hockey team through the whole thing, but they are drowned in a sea of green and silver. Sokovia has made it to the twelve teams in competition through the qualification tournament, and they are this Olympics' Cinderella story. The fans sure believe, and are very loud in their support of their home team. 

Every check made by the Sokovians is met with appreciative cheers, and the sound level goes insane anytime Pietro touches the puck. He's the crowd's favorite and he thrives with the attention. Unfortunately the team doesn't have much depth, especially in defense, though they do have a very effective goalie in Victor Von Doom. He's good, but Tony's betting that he won't be able to sustain the buzzing around him; they've shot at him all night long, over 30 times, and they are only midway through the second period. Each save generates 'oooh's and 'aaaaahhh!'s - deserved, though very frustrating - but Tony is starting to see the cracks.

"Hey boys, he's weaker on the right. Especially at ice level," he tells his wingers before they get in position for a drop. They have to wait a couple of seconds before they resume playing, curtesy of a television commercial break. 

"Got it," Northstar says.

"Congrats, Speedy," Wade tells Pietro. "You've been assigned constant Logan coverage for the rest of the game. Coach Coulson just said so." 

"Should you be telling me this?" Pietro asks, frowning.

"Well, we're usually teammates! You know I love you!" Wades says. He's such a jester. 

"It's not like it's going to be a secret for very long," Tony reasons. 

"I'm going to stick to you like white on rice, kid," Logan says as he gets in place before the game resumes.

"If you can keep up," Pietro smirks. Tony has to give him points for that one.

The game starts again, the rhythm fast as it's been all night. Tony loves having the breathing space to skate, and since Logan does a fabulous job of countering Pietro, he ends up with the puck often. For possibly the sixth time tonight, he gets the opportunity for a getaway, easily going around a defensemen and speeding down the ice. Von Doom is waiting for him, and there isn't much to read on his face, covered with his goalie mask painted to make him look like a silver robot. Tony dekes and slides the puck on Doom's right side, at ice level, and bingo, he's got it.

It's like a hush comes down on the arena for a beat, and Tony almost feels bad that he put a damper on all of that enthusiasm. But he's almost slammed in the boards behind the net by a whooping Wade – that guy is a like an overexcited puppy, always – and Northstar joins the celebrations. Fans are also hitting on the Plexiglas and Tony realizes he's right next to a pocket of thrilled Team Canada fans, dressed to the nines with coats, hats and mittens with the maple leaf. They're making thumbs up at him and Tony salutes them, grinning, before going back to the bench and fist-bumping the rest of the team before climbing the board and sitting down.

Coulson taps him on the helmet. "Good job, Tony."

"Thanks Coach."

"Come on, guys, we need more!" he shouts at the boys. "Defense, if Maximoff jumps on the ice and Logan is sitting, I want a switch ASAP."

Logan, now by his side, grunts that he's got it and Tony gives him a water bottle. He's good, he's strong, but Pietro is fast as hell; it must be hard to shadow him constantly.

"You good?" Tony asks. There was an uncalled high stick earlier, he thought for a second that Logan had got it in the face.

"Peachy," Logan says, spitting on the ground. "Score another and I'll be even better."

"I plan on it," Tony says, eyes on the puck. He itches to go back, his blood singing. 

**

He scores two more, and Von Doom loses his shit at the third. He absolutely destroys his hockey stick against his own goal posts, hurling insults at Tony and his ancestors. It's hilarious, if you ask him.

Later, Tony realizes that he probably just earned the title of the most hated man in Sokovia. Oooops.

(Frankly? He doesn't care. Canada loves him, anyway.) 

**

Team Canada's tree wins in the preliminary round earns them the first place in their group and a bye to go straight to the quarter finals. It also means that they have two days off before the next game and Tony feels perfectly justified in getting utterly smashed. You have the chance to party at the Olympics only a couple of times in your life, after all.

Maybe it was organized, or it's just that everyone migrates to the same party areas, but at one point Tony looks around and he can see pretty much all of Team Canada's and Team USA's players, both male and female. Plus several from other countries, too, and it doesn't stop at hockey because he's pretty sure that the girl laughing with Thor is Jane Foster, the American figure skating darling.

"Are you looking for someone?" 

Tony's attention is brought back to Pepper, who somehow ended up sitting on his lap. 

"No, just looking around," Tony lies with a smile, before taking a shot. The table is full and the server keeps them coming, it's like magic.

He might have been hopelessly drawn to look at Steve again. Maybe. Who is here, yes, but with Bucky. Tony reasons that he should just stop breaking his own heart, but it's so hard not to look. He did get a nice smile earlier, from afar. He's not sure if it made it better or worse. This time Steve isn't looking towards him, and isn't smiling either, even if Barnes has an arm over his shoulders and is talking in his ear. Ugh. Tony is close to become a mopey drunk tonight, he knows that, but he takes another shot anyway.

At his side, Rhodey rolls his eyes. Of course he noticed, he's been kicking Tony under the table all evening each time he looked towards Steve.

Pepper, almost simultaneously, rolls her eyes too. Tony is a master at inducing that reaction, it's a point of pride most days.

"Yeah, right. You know I've always been able to tell when you lie."

"He thinks he's got us fooled or something," Rhodey says, close to slurring. It's rare that Rhodey drinks a lot, but frankly he's just as smashed as Tony is right now. "But the guy has tells so big, it's like they are flashing on the jumbotron."

"Meanie. And that's why it didn't work between us," Tony tells Pepper with a dramatic sigh. "You never let me delude myself or bullshit you."

They were a couple for close to a year, around the time Tony signed his contract with the Kings. The sudden fame went to his head, and he lost touch with what was important. He never cheated, it's thankfully not one of his flaws, but he definitely acted immaturely and Pepper quickly had enough. Frankly, it's one of Tony's worst fuck ups. 

"Don't pout," Pepper says, smiling down at him indulgently. "We loved each other, but it would never have lasted."

"I know." She’s just too good for a guy like him. He smiles back and gives her a big long hug. "I miss you anyway."

"We talk all the time," Pepper says, laughing and carding her fingers through his hair. Tony turns into it, he's always loved this kind of casual affection. It's a pity it's so lacking in his life. 

"Not nearly enough," Tony says, kissing her cheek. "So you girls play tomorrow, right?"

"Will you come and cheer for me?" she asks wiggling her eyebrows. 

"For sure!" Rhodey says.

No one would suspect that the cute and proper Pepper turns into a demon on the ice, all intensity and determination. Tony's very proud of how much she kicks ass with Team USA. 

"You bet!" Tony says. He then has a moment of doubt. "You aren't playing Team Canada, right?"

Aurora, Northstar's twin sister and member of the women's Team Canada, would eviscerate him if she saw unpatriotic cheering. Tony's ex-girlfriend being on the other team would not be enough of an excuse.

"No, she's playing _me_ ," Natasha Romanoff says from behind their backs, smirking.

"Ouch," Tony says, wincing. Talk about someone else who is scary. Team Russia is a hell of a hockey machine, and Nat is one of the most gifted player he knows, all sexes combined. "Well I'm sorry Nat, you know I love you like a sister," they bicker all of the time if they hang out, and Natasha delicately snorts in amusement, "but I need to back up my girl here."

"I can understand that," Natasha says with a nod.

"Really?" Wow, he's getting off easy. "You've got this, baby," he tells Pepper. 

"Thanks," she says.

"Come and dance with me," Natasha says, taking Pepper's hand, who lowers her eyes with a delighted smile.

"I see how it is," Tony tells Rhodey, who doesn’t seem surprised. Did he know about this? Why doesn't anyone tell him shit? Tony acts dramatically as Pepper gets up, though he loves how happy she looks. "Go forth and abandon me, again."

"You're a big boy, Stark, you'll survive," Natasha says, looking over her shoulder as they make their way to the dance floor. 

"Careful Pepper! You have a game tomorrow, remember that!" He shouts, but he's not even sure she's listening anymore.

"Ha, that's precious," Rhodey says.

"I cannot believe this. Openly cavorting with the enemy," Wade says on Tony's other side, tutting his disapproval.

Tony looks over and he hopes his face conveys the depth of how unimpressed he is with that comment.

"Wade? You've been making out with your girlfriend all night," he says, gesturing to the lovely Vanessa, who is straddling his very lucky teammate. "She’s Team USA just like Pepper."

"But we aren't playing against each other," Wade says. 

"I could take you," Vanessa tells Wade with a wink.

He grins at her. "You could indeed." 

They resume making out, because they are just that shameless. Frankly, they look a minute away from fucking. Tony sighs. He hasn't gotten laid in over a month, what's up with that? Oh, yeah, right, he’s developed feelings for someone he can't have. He takes another shot.

"Watch my chair, will you?" he asks Rhodey. "I need to find the bathroom."

"No promises," Rhodey says. He points towards the back of the room. "And it's over there, behind the bar." 

"'kay," Tony says, getting up. He's surprised when the room spins a lot more than he anticipated.

Maneuvering through the crowd is a challenge, but Tony manages to find the bathroom and do his business. He's not exactly sure what was in those shots, but they're hitting him hard, and his balance is compromised on his way back to Rhodey. He avoids running into a girl, but has to grip someone's arm to keep upright.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, then almost falls on his ass when he automatically lets go, realizing it's Bucky.

"Careful, Tony," Steve says, because of course he's the one that catches him.

"Right, yes. Sorry about this," Tony says, tapping Bucky's bicep, which is hard as steel, damn, "but sorry about the trade too, man." 

That earns him a scoff and an amused smirk. "Not your doing, I presume."

"No!" Tony looks at Steve. Tall, wonderful Steve. "I had no idea it was coming. But it sucks that you were separated like that. I'm sorry."

Steve shakes his head. "It's okay, Tony. Don't worry about it, trades are part of the game. It was fun playing together in the NHL, it was our childhood dream, but we had a couple of years and that's great."

Childhood dream? Oh, boy, then they go way back, too. 

"Still. And I'm sorry you have to play for Hammer," Tony says, and feels like throwing up just saying the name.

Bucky laughs at that. "I can handle him."

"He's getting a lot of criticism about how he didn't give you enough ice with the Kings once Thor came back from his injury at the start of the season, right Buck?" Steve says.

Well that's nice to hear. Tony hopes Hammer cries bitter angry tears every night when he looks at the Capitals' highlight reel.

"Yeah. Him and Stane are being dragged about how great you're doing with the Caps. A bit of that falls on me, but heh," Bucky says with a shrug. "I had no delusions, I knew I couldn't fill your skates. And your fans are pissed."

"You're too hard on yourself," Steve says, looking concerned. "Tony is… Tony, you know?" 

He says it like Tony is special, and it warms him right up.

"I'll take that as a compliment?" 

He shouldn't have said that. God, way to look overeager at every little scrap of Steve's attention.

Bucky smirks. "It is. He keeps raving about you lately."

Is that a blush on Steve's cheeks? For sure he's making faces at Bucky, clearly telegraphing that he needs to shut up. Well, nonetheless it's nice to know that Steve says good things.

"To be perfectly honest, my friends are tired of hearing me talk about Steve, so," Tony admits. Alcohol always made him overly chatty.

"Is that so," Bucky says, raising his eyebrows and throwing his friend a look. Steve is still red, though he looks less murderous. "Speaking of friends… I don't know if you mind, but I know Natasha Romanoff and I'm pretty sure she's putting the moves on your girlfriend."

Tony looks at the dance floor where yeah, Pepper and Nat are dancing as if they are the only ones still in the room, totally wrapped in one another.

"I think they're already together?" Tony says. "I don't know."

Steve is frowning. "But earlier, I thought-"

"Pepper dumped me two years ago," Tony says with a shake of his head. "She's a very smart woman. But I'm lucky enough that we're still friends." 

"Oh," Steve says. He looks like the rug has been pulled from under his feet. Frankly, it's confounding; Tony has no idea how this news is even of interest to him.

"I really should find someone too," Tony says with a deep sigh. "Is it too much to ask to have a girl or a guy who’ll look at me like that?"

He points at the dance floor, then at Wade and Vanessa, still in their bubble, Thor near the bar who seems wrapped around Jane's pinky, and finishes by gesturing between Bucky and Steve. Both look at him with a frown, and then Steve's eyes go wide while Bucky starts laughing.

"Oh, man, that's priceless," Bucky says. "You two idiots need to talk."

He laughs once more and shakes his head, clapping Tony's arm as he leaves them. It's done amicably, but the hit would’ve knocked Tony to the ground, if it weren’t for Steve keeping him upright.

"What is he going on about?" Tony asks, confused. "Your Bucky is weird, Steve."

"My Bucky is an asshole who doesn't know when to shut up," Steve says, red again.

"You’re both weird," Tony concludes. 

He looks over at the table and Rhodey… has decided to sleep there? Clint has taken Tony's chair and seems to be trying to convince Rhodey to go. For a second he wonders if he should intervene, maybe even help, but he's not feeling so great. He thinks he needs some air, or he might be sick.

"Okay, Steve, nice chat," Tony says, patting his chest (which is distracting for a second). "I gotta step out for a minute."

"Are you okay?" Steve looks concerned. 

"Yeah yeah." Tony looks around and sees that Bucky is talking with another girl from Team USA, Darcy. "I'll leave you two be, g'night," he adds, stumbling towards the exit.

To his surprise, Steve follows him. After a couple of steps he takes the lead and Tony just hangs on to his sweater and follows as he cuts through the crowd. The breath of fresh air when they finally make it out is a godsend. Tony's still right on the edge of puking, though. Taking deep breaths, he clears the entryway and puts his hands against the wall. Shit shit shit, this is embarrassing. Saliva is pooling in his mouth and Tony spits on the ground, then closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the blessedly cool stone.

"Will you be okay?" Steve asks. 

Tony makes a thumb up in his direction. Or where he guesses Steve is.

"I've got this. Might be sick, but I've got this. Go, he'll wonder where you are."

"About that," Steve says, voice now closer. "Hmm. I think you have the wrong impression about Bucky and I?" 

Ugh, he doesn't want to talk about Bucky. Who seems nice and sarcastic, on top of beingpretty. It makes Tony want to hurl all over again.

"We're not together. If that's what you were implying earlier. We're just friends, have been since we were ten years old. Best friends. But that’s all."

That is… what? Tony turns his head to look at Steve, squinting. "Just friends?"

Steve has a little smile. "I've been told it leans towards codependency, but yes. Just friends."

That is _terrific_ news. 

"Oh." But since he's assumed before, maybe Tony should check, you know, if there is someone else.

"No, I'm single," Steve says, smiling a little wider now. 

So Tony's reached the part of being drunk where he says his thoughts out loud, without filter. He is prone to do that when smashed, or so he was told.

"Good," he says, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the stone again. "I mean not good, you deserve someone nice and he looks very nice."

"I don't know if 'nice' is my type though," Steve says. 

"Should be." Steve deserves the best, not a fuck up like him who ruins everything sooner rather than later.

"Oookay. Now that's-"

"My coat," Tony says, suddenly worried. "My coat is inside. I need it." Not that he's cold, but he can't leave it here.

"I'm sure someone will bring your coat back, Tony."

Tony takes out his phone, good thing he had it in his jumpsuit's pocket, and he texts Rhodey and hits 'send'. But then Rhodey seemed out, so he texts Clint just after. Maybe Wade would be better? Yeah. Wade it is. 

_bring my coat outside???? Please???????_

Steve snorts a laugh. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"Huh?"

"You're wasted, barely standing up, but you still manage to text faster than anyone I've ever seen," Steve says.

He grins at Steve. "I'm very dexterous." 

The irony that he almost drops his phone right then isn't lost on him, and it makes him laugh. So much that he loses his balance and for who knows how many times that made it tonight, Steve catches him.

"Thanks," Tony says, between hiccups. When did he get the hiccups? "I might have broken my face."

"Can't let that happen," Steve says. He's close, and his eyes are soft and so beautiful. "I'm quite fond of that face."

He hasn't let Tony go, now safely in his arms, and it's nice, very nice. Tony is about to declare himself fond of his face right back, maybe compose and ode in its honor, when the bar door opens and Wade steps out with Vanessa and, blessedly, Tony's coat. Upon seeing Tony all but standing up just because of Steve, Wade throws his arms in the air.

"Oh my God! What did I say about cavorting with the enemy?"

"We're sadly not cavorting," Tony says, leaving Steve's embrace to make grabby hands at his coat. It has started snowing, he needs a coat. "Where is it we sleep again?" he asks Wade. He'll know, he has the next room over.

"Come here, you lush," Wade says, grabbing Tony's arm and he slings it around his neck to better guide him. "I'll take you to your bed."

"Okay," Tony agrees, and he puts an arm around Vanessa, too, who smiles at him. "Thanks guys."

"Need any help?" Steve asks and oh, right, Steve.

"Nah, we got him," Wade says. "Good night, Rogers."

"Good night Steve!" Tony adds, and he tries to turn around but no, he can't, he is being pretty much dragged away. 

"Good night Tony. Make him drink water?" 

"For sure," Vanessa says. "He'll be fine."

It's too bad they are going the wrong way, because he can't see Steve anymore. Steve who is so pretty and nice and has great abs, he sort of felt them earlier. And his back, too, that was awesome. 

Vanessa laughs, clear and bright in the night and Wade grumbles "No cavorting my ass", though Tony has no idea why. 

**

The two days rest after playing Sokovia go fast, especially since Tony had to fight a huge hangover for one of them. He still doesn't know what had been in those shots, but they had had quite a kick. Heck, Rhodey had spent the whole day after the bar wearing sunglasses and drinking sparkly water. But it's back to the grind and the day's main event for Team Canada is facing Thor and Loki in the quarterfinal game against the Norwegians. It's no surprise when Thor greets Tony with a big smile during warm-up, stopping at the red line. 

"It's nice to see you, Anthony!" 

Tony brakes too and smiles back. "Same here, big guy!" 

He knows that the Kings could afford trading him pretty much only because they had Thor. He's never resented him for it at all.

Tony had rewrittten the rookie year record book when he entered the NHL, even though the Kings had been rebuilding the hockey club after having had an abysmal year (explaining why they had the first choice). Everyone was happy about his performances, and Hammer hadn’t been that bad back then (though the guy already was a pompous prick). The summer after that, the Kings had managed to sign up Thor as a free agent. The big guy was hurt, so it was a calculated risk for Stane to take on his contract, knowing he wouldn't play much in the first year. Tony was fine with that, and he liked Thor and his big smiles and generous nature a lot. He made a great addition to the club, and even managed to mellow his half brother, Loki, the Kings' goalie (probably why Thor chose LA for his new start, in fact). Thor is an excellent center, huge and physical, never afraid to go to war. He started playing again at the end of Tony's second season, and quickly made his mark. Frankly, Tony was happy about it. Less pressure on him to carry the Kings, even though it meant less ice time. No biggie, he could share. 

But then – after that second summer, now reassured that Thor was back to full health - Hammer had started openly criticizing Tony. With the media, even, with little cutting remarks about immaturity, or how Tony had talent but no heart. Oh, Hammer had done it before, always nitpicking Tony's every little mistake on and off the ice – but it had been a lot more covert before. Predictably, it pissed Tony off greatly, and he'd started talking back. Frustrated at being challenged, Hammer hit where it hurt Tony the most: he gradually but steadily reduced his ice time. Thor was first line, which okay, Tony could not protest about that since the guy had a lot of experience and was delivering. But Tony also saw a lot less power plays, and few shootouts. 

Still, Tony took his rank and endured. Thor was a born leader, he deserved it. And even with everything, Tony managed to have a very good season; he’d even had a goal on Thor when he was traded. Nothing like his rookie year, but as he'd been told by Stane, that must have been a fluke anyway. The league's goalies had adapted and they knew him better now. And Rhodey was a first line winger, so it was normal that he was now playing with Thor. Hammer kept changing Tony's winger, so he never quite managed to build chemistry with anyone else. So Tony coasted on a good season, enough to be first scorer in his team and a decent 6th in the league, and he thought it wasn't so bad after all. Not enough to make him want to leave, anyway. That's why the trade to Washington had hit Tony so hard. He was convinced he'd make his whole career with them. 

But hey, here they are, trade done and now at the Olympics. Life goes on.

"I am happy for your success on your new team," Thor says.

"Thanks! You guys seem to be doing okay too." 

The Kings have won more than they’ve lost, at least. 

"Your departure shows, but we manage," Thor says with a wink. "I enjoyed having you as a comrade, I wanted you to know that."

"Same," Tony says, touched. 

Thor smiles widely again. "And it's an honor to have such a good opponent today."

"Yeah, I'll do my best," Tony says, laughing. "Let’s have a good game!"

The organizers are making gestures, so they have to go to their blue lines, for the national anthems. They part with a touching of gloves and Tony adds over his shoulder.

"But not too good, okay?" 

Thor laughs as he reaches his teammates. 

"Good luck, Anthony."

**

The game is fast, relying a lot on offence. Thor is in great shape, but Sasquatch is a small miracle guarding Team Canada's net. Late in the third period, Team Canada is up 2-1 in the score. It’s sure helping that Tony has played two and a half years with Loki; he could share his tells and weaknesses with the team. Like how Loki gets easily annoyed if someone stays too close to his goal crease. Tony told that to Coulson as they went over strategies, and Wilson promptly volunteered to park his ass in the slot as often and as long as possible. Wade can annoy just by breathing, and by the looks of it, he's doing a great job. He even got an assist out of it tonight, redirecting one of Northstar's shots.

"No, seriously, I want to know what your shampoo is! Does it have coconut?" Tony hears Wade saying and he laughs, knowing it must be driving Loki up the walls.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" is all the confirmation Tony needs.

Loki's main quality as a goalie is that he's generally as cool as ice, but it hides a very emotional temper. Once his blood starts boiling, he gets distracted. Probably planning murder. 

On the next exchange near Team Norway's net, Loki is doing that neck tick of his that means he's about to use his hockey stick as an axe. There's a mêlée in front of the net and Tony takes his chance, throws the puck in the middle of all the legs, loses it because it ricochets at least twice, and and luckily for him it finds an opening to slide behind Loki.

"That's it baby! Wooo!" Wade yells as the light shines and Tony whoops too.

Loki swears profusely (it looks as if it's Wade’s family that is getting hexed tonight). 

**

Two nights later is one of the harshest hockey games Tony has ever been part of.

"This is not the semi-finals," Tony pants at one point when he goes back to his bench. "This is a trench war."

They are tied at 1-1 in the second period, but Team Canada – Tony in particular, he's tempted to think – is getting hit, badly. It looks like Team Russia came out on the ice with not only skates on their feet but blades between their teeth. It had been nice, in the last eight days, to play hockey the international way, with lots of room to skate. The Russians, it seems, decided that physical was the way to go tonight, though. It makes sense with their lineup counting Anton Vanko, Emil Blonsky and Peter Raspoutin among others. 

"It's a war we need to win," Coach Coulson says. 

"I know," Tony says. They can't fail at this point. They need to win tonight to have a shot at the gold. If they lose, at best it's bronze and in Tony's head that’s totally unacceptable.

"Ready?" Coulson asks. 

"Whenever, Coach," Tony says, taking a last gulp of water. 

"Be careful, and hold your head high. Go!"

Tony jumps on the ice and there they go again. It's a battle in every moment to take control of the puck. He's behind Team Russia's net, trying to wrestle the puck away from Raspoutin who is holding it against the kickplate with his skate – Jesus the guy is huge, no wonder he's nicknamed Colossus – when Tony is flattened against the boards, hard. Russia has been playing hard but mostly clean, but this is a sucker hit and Tony feels the unmistakable pain of a stick hitting his back, too. It's a good thing Tony has a visor because he faceplants right into the Plexiglas, and the hand he brings up to try to catch himself knocks his own nose in the process. Fucking ouch. He falls to one knee in surprise.

There's a whistle blow, and from the corner of his eye Tony can see that Northstar and Wade have come pushing in, while Vanko is smirking down at Tony. He even blows him a kiss and Tony would probably pop up to his feet and get in his face if he wasn't a bit taken aback by the blood. It seems he busted his nose and it hurts like a bitch.

The referee calls for a minor, so a 2 minutes power play for Canada, with a 10 minutes misconduct on top for Vanko. Tony can't believe this.

"Two fucking minutes? He crosschecked me to make me kiss the protective glass!" he yells at the ref, going to the bench. He has to pinch his nose and tip his head back, or the maple leaf on his chest will become red instead of staying white. Someone opens the door for him and he's not even sitting down when Coulson and the medic, Yinsen, are asking questions and Tony's helmet is off.

"Are you okay?"

"Any dizziness?" Yinsen asks.

"No, no," Tony hurries to reply. He's not concussed, and doesn't even want to go through the protocol, he's perfectly fine. "I swear, just my nose. Punched myself in the face, dammit."

A light is shone in his eyes – all medics are paranoid, it's known fact – and the prodding around his nose is kind of painful, but Yinsen visibly relaxes. Coulson gives a nod and goes back to his job as Team Canada tries to capitalize on the power play.

"Yes, okay," Yinsen says. "It's not broken."

"I sure fucking hope so!" Tony grumbles. "I've always been prone to nose bleeds." 

Which was annoying, especially at fourteen when he was full of hormones and responded to taunting by getting angry. It was mortifying to end up bloody all the time. It even happened on a bus ride once, just like that. Well the air was too dry and it was a fucking long bus ride, but still.

Yinsen gives him a damp towel to clean up, and thankfully the bleeding has stopped already.

"I can go back, Coach!" he shouts, putting his helmet back. 

Visibly Yinsen looks a little pinched, he's cautious by nature, but he nods his approval.

"You'll go soon enough," Coulson says, tugging on his tie. He's furious right now, probably because they couldn't score with a man up.

Tony's had a good five minutes of rest when Coulson sends him back on the ice. He is determined to do what he has to do while ignoring Vanko's posturing that starts again once his ten minutes is done. They're trying to get the puck out of their zone, the Russians had been pressing on again, when Tony takes control, quickly doubles back, and the path is now clear towards the Russian goalie. Not one to miss such an opportunity, Tony accelerates but he almost gets hit by a hockey stick that knocks the puck away from him. 

Immediately there's a whistle and the referee has raised his crossed arms above his head with his fists clenched and points to center ice, signaling a penalty shot. Yeah, he got that call right, Tony was just robbed of a sweet getaway chance. It seems it's Vanko that has mistaken his stick for a javelin, and he doesn't even seem to regret his stupidity. 

"Fuck you, Vanko!" Tony shouts. 

The man is a menace, he shouldn't even be allowed to play in international hockey with the record he has for suspensions due to questionable hits. Let's just say he isn’t the incarnate of the spirit of the Games. Not far behind, going back towards the bench, Tony can see that Logan is getting worked up. He's very protective of his teammates even though he acts like a grouchy bear.

In Olympic hockey it's not necessarily the player that has been victim of a foul who has to take the penalty shot, but Coulson gestures him to go. Good: Tony loves penalty shots – shootouts too - and the mind games that comes with them. Once the puck has been put on center ice and he's free to go, Tony skates away in a short little loop in order to gain momentum then he comes back and takes control of the puck, going towards the goal. 

One on one like this, without the distraction of other players, everything goes on between Tony and the goalie. This one has a fast glove, so deking to make him move and then flipping the puck in would make sense. But the son of a bitch is challenging Tony right now, lowering his trapper, trying to tempt him to aim for the opening. He's so confident in his ability to cover the hole that Tony bites and immediately snipes, without even deking. He's absolutely certain that he can beat him at his own game, and lo and behold, it works. The crowd roars when the light shines. Take that. With a period and change to go, they are finally in the lead by one goal.

The third period is another act full of borderline hooking, holding and interference with intense checking. It seems that every other minute there is a power play, and even the Canadian defensemen are getting agitated and rough. He's usually not one to be paranoid, but Tony feels targeted. Vanko in particular seem to be set on hurting him, as if he has a family feud to settle. With less than ten minutes to play, Tony is once again behind the net with Colossus trying to take control of the puck when he sees, in his peripheral vision, Vanko coming for him like a freight train. Tony clamps down on his mouthpiece, curls his head in his shoulders but the expected hit never comes, Logan appearing between them and weathering most of the collision. 

"You fucking maniac," Logan says, getting right in Vanko's face after they collide.

"Back off," Tony says, relieved he avoided that one. Vanko and Logan have ended up in the backboards right next to him and it's as if the arena shook with the force of the hit.

"What is it, Stark? Too much of a coward? You need your big bad dog to protect you?" Vanko says, sneering.

"If I didn't have better to do in two days, I'd show you a big bad dog," Logan snarls. 

It's clear that if it wasn't Olympic hockey, gloves would have been dropped already. But here a fight is an automatic game penalty, and even Logan won't miss the chance at a gold medal match to put Vanko in his place. Coulson would kill him for it anyway.

The crowd reacts almost as much to the promise of a fight as they do when there’s been a goal, everyone having jumped to their feet. But the referees come in, separate the men, and eventually it settles down. 

Canada hangs on to its tiny lead until the end, and that's the best 'in your face' of all. 

**

Like everyone else, Tony has followed the progression of the different teams in the tournament. Of course, he has a particular interest in Team USA for obvious reasons. His best friend being a key player. And other friends. And the guy he's possibly in love with. You know, those sorts of reasons. Team USA has done great in the preliminary rounds to nag a bye to the quarterfinals, where they won against Sweden. 

It's been a couple of hours since Tony's own game finished, but he is back at the Ice Dome, hanging around in the stands to check on the Team USA - Czech Republic semi-final. Pretty much the whole Canadian team is there, watching the action. Tomorrow they'll even get to see it again on tape, after Coach Coulson has analyzed every play. The women from Team USA are here, too, at least the ones who decided to stay once their own final game was played the night before.

"Hey there sweetheart," Tony says as he leans on the ramp next to Pepper. 

"Oh, hi," she says, and immediately checks Tony's face. Her fingers are like icicles and he recoils slightly more for that reason than because it hurts. "Are you okay?"

He aches all over, and hopes the painkillers he took earlier will kick in soon, but his face - that seems her concern - isn't so bad.

"Saw that, huh?" Tony says. "That wasn't my proudest moment, I bloodied my own nose."

"Vanko's an asshole. That was a crosscheck, I can't believe he got away with it. I was worried."

Tony bumps their shoulders together. "I'm fine," he reassures. "Thanks for coming to see the game."

"You cheer for me, I cheer for you," she says with a fond smile. 

"Just a little quieter when it's against home team," he says with a wink. "Speaking of, are you over the heartbreak?"

The girls of Team Canada and Team USA had an epic battle for the gold medal that had to be decided in overtime. Frankly, it could have gone either way. If on one hand, Tony had been thrilled for Aurora - a childhood friend - and the other girls from Canada, but he was in fact a lot closer to Pepper, Vanessa, Kate and Darcy, so the Canadian win had been very bittersweet.

Pepper winces. "I'm not sure I'll ever be over it. We were so close."

Tony puts an arm around her and kisses her temple. "I'm sorry baby. You were absolutely magnificent, as ever. Maybe even made me fall for you all over again."

It makes her laugh, which was the goal.

"You're incorrigible," Pepper says. "But that's a lie. I hear that you're quite taken with someone else lately," she teases.

"What?" Tony says, feigning surprise. "Your informant would be wrong, my dear. I am as single as one can be." To his immense regret.

She pats his hand. "For now. And I suggest you keep it that way until you go back home? Because let's just say that beating your significant other's team puts a slight strain in a relationship."

"Is Nat still pouting?" Tony asks. "You know how competitive she is. She'll get over it soon."

After the big party, Pepper and friends had beat the Russians in the semifinals. Team Russia eventually won the bronze, but that's not something that would soften the blow for Natasha. 

"I know," Pepper says with a sigh. "So, tell me about Steve Rogers."

He can't believe she knows about that, dammit.

"Oh my God, Rhodey is dead," Tony declares. 

Pepper laughs. "Give him a break. I am pretty sure he doesn't even remember telling me. Probably wouldn't have if it wasn't for the Rakia."

"So that's what was in those shots!" Tony makes a mental note to avoid it forever.

"And Vanessa told me you just couldn't stop rambling about Rogers when she and Wade took you to your room," Pepper adds.

"Did I do that?" He doesn't remember much from that part of the night. "Oh well."

"So?" she persists.

"It's true," Tony confesses. "I am crushing hard on Steve. But I thought he was with Bucky, so I've been pining. It's pretty pathetic."

"Bucky Barnes?"

Tony nods. "Yeah. Seems they are just friends, though."

Pepper shakes her head and seems to find it funny.

"Not funny, Pep! I suffered!" Tony says.

"For nothing! On the other hand, I had to watch him with my own crush for real!" Pepper says.

"What? Barnes and Natasha?" He hadn't known about that.

"Yes! They were together last year."

"There we go, then," Tony says. "Another experience shared: jealousy of Bucky Barnes. Curse his pretty eyes and pouty lips."

"Amen," Pepper says. 

The spectators in the arena start clapping and hooting as the players come back for the third period. Team USA is up 3-0, and Rhodey has been great. Steve has been exceptional. When he steps on the ice, Tony adds his whistles to the mix. As always, he has trouble watching anyone else, unless Rhodey and Clint are on the ice.

"You know he kept looking at you, too," Pepper says at one point.

"Steve? He was at the game?" He wouldn't have thought, since Team USA had to prepare for their own.

"Just a bit, after their meeting I suppose. He saw when you got hurt and was furious. The guy curses like a sailor, by the way," Pepper says. 

Well, that's good to know, but of course Steve cares about his teammates, they have become friends after all. It doesn't mean anything. 

"But I meant at the bar the other night. He kept looking over at you, or us I guess, and looked as if someone had kicked his puppy," she adds.

Pepper wouldn't make up something like that. Tony remembers how Bucky had laughed when he'd said he wasn't with Pepper, and that Steve and him needed to talk. How Steve had blushed at that, which had been adorable. Could it be that he's interested back? It's almost too good to be true. 

"Yeah?" 

She smiles fondly. "Definitely. Just… focus on what you are here for first. I don't want to be a traitor to my country and my friends, but go get that medal. There will be plenty of time to sort things out with Steve later. And if doesn't work after all, if he's not interested, it's his loss. You are a catch, Tony Stark."

Tony hugs her, so frigging grateful he still has her in his life.

"Thanks, Pepper. You're the best. I love you."

"Love you too."

Pepper is right, he can't be distracted by his feelings, not right now. They turn back to the game and watch it with the rest of the arena, and probably most of the hockey fans in the world. He cheers loudly minutes later when Rhodey scores with a fantastic assist by Clint.

With a 4-0 lead in the third and Steve doing a great impression of an impenetrable wall in his net, they are certainly going to win tonight. Which means it is going to be Team Canada against Team USA for the gold in two days, and Tony will have to play against some of his favorite people. And beat them too, there's no way around that.

Well shit.

**

Rationally, Tony knows that since he's twenty years old and in great shape, what he's feeling right now is very unlikely the signs of a heart malfunction. It might be acute anxiety, though, this game is killing him. He isn’t having a great game, Sam always on his back, and he hadn’t even been on the ice for the two Team Canada goals. Even worse, he didn't manage one single shot on Steve in the first period, and only two since. They are still in the lead, though. A precarious 2-1 lead and less than 30 seconds to go. 

But then, to make it all worse, Hammer calls Steve to the bench, and Barnes is joining Rhodey's line, six Americans against five of theirs, deep in Canada's zone. Feeling completely helpless from the bench, Tony looks on with horror as way too many people are buzzing around Sasquatch's net. With 24.4 seconds to go, standing almost in the goalie's crease, Barnes manages to deke a rebound on Sasquatch's wide opened right and scores, tying the game.

It's like being dunked in ice water. Tony's heart sinks. Jesus, they’d had a 2-0 lead. How could this happen? Bucky has hopped right in to the boards in the corner of the rink and is celebrating with Rhodey and the others. Tony thinks that if he never really resented Bucky when he thought he was dating Steve, he might just as well hate him now. Dammit. Coulson is livid, and the whole Canadian bench has long faces. They resist for the end of the third period, at least, and are sent back to their locker room as they resurface the ice before the overtime.

The break has Coulson talking to the team, but Tony is in his head, going over everything he did wrong tonight and what he needs do right to stop them from being screwed. He needs the gold, he doesn't want to lose, not even to Rhodey and Steve. 

"Hey, hey," Wade says, poking him with the end of his stick. "Focus." 

He must have noticed that Tony zoned out. 

"Yeah," Tony says. "Rich, coming from you," he says by rote. Bantering is easy, it does push away the anxiety.

"We've got to win this, Tony," Wade adds. "Don’t you want to stick it to Hammer?"

"Hell yeah," Tony says. That is true, he cannot let Hammer win this one. It would be so very sweet to put the last nail in his coffin, making him lose this game. "You give the best pep talks, Wilson."

"Glad to be of service," Wade says with a grin. "Come on, we can do this. Maximum effort."

"Okay, okay."

Later, at his first faceoff with Rhodey for the overtime, Tony can't help himself.

"I'm sorry, pal, gold is more my color. I have a feeling you'll look fetching in silver, though."

Rhodey scoffs. "Shut up and play, asshole."

"I love you too," Tony says as the puck drops. 

Later, in another shift, he's accelerating towards the USA zone right after a great save from Sasquatch, and Tony is on his blue line when Logan lobs him the puck. Wade is waiting on the other blue, to avoid the offside, but the defensemen are waiting for Tony. He tries to direct the puck to the goal anyway, hockey held into one hand and stretched as long as he can between Sam and the other guy, but it's weak and Steve deflects it easily to his right. 

Tony skates to the boards to get it back, needs to go around a ref and somehow the puck has stuck in the ref's skates. It's dangerous to get boxed by Sam, who is still right there, so Tony kicks the puck to Wade from behind the ref's skates. Tony immediately takes a better position, ready. Even though Wade gets pushed down on the ice, he manages to lob the puck Tony's way, a bit behind him. Once again Sam is way too close and almost intercepts it, but Tony manages to take control of the puck and he's shooting at Steve, who dives on his right to try to stop the puck with his stick but misses. It's in! It's in, and the horn and the way the crowd roars is the sweetest thing Tony has ever heard.

He's still on one leg from the feint and raises his hockey stick in the air with one hand before throwing it down on the ice, with his mouthpiece and gloves, both hands in the air as he jumps up and down. His teammates scream bloody murder and come over, celebrating just as much. He's got his arm full of Northstar and Logan for a second before the others start piling up, jumping onto the huddle and squishing him against the boards.

They won, they fucking won the gold medal! It's one of the best adrenaline rushes of Tony's life. The helmets come off and everyone is hugging, tousling hair, and congratulating each other. It's a fantastic feeling, and Tony cannot stop grinning. Even Coulson is almost exuberant, that's how excited they all are. They eventually form the two lines for the handshakes, and that's when he sobers up a little. Tony somehow got hold of a Canada flag that he has bunched in his left fist, and with every shake of hands with Team USA he repeats 'good game', because it was, and what do you even say when you just broke 23 guys’ dream? Clint is a good sport and takes him in a short side-hug, and Tony is speechless when he reaches Rhodey.

"Dammit, Tones," Rhodey says and Tony can't help the snort laugh as they hug. They're going to be fine, it just stings for Rhodes right now.

"I love you, man," he says, touching foreheads. 

"I'll love you again tomorrow," Rhodey says. "Good game."

Second to last is Barnes, a perfunctory handshake, but at this point Tony only has eyes for Steve. His brittle smile breaks Tony's heart a little, which does dims the joy. Steve is trying so hard to keep the emotion in, blue eyes a little wet.

"You deserve it," Steve says when they get to each other. 

That kind of comment is not something that Tony often believes, but he's tempted to now because Steve never lies.

"Thank you," he replies. He wants to say he's sorry, because he never wanted to make Steve feel bad, but he did want that win. He needed it, too. So in the end he doesn't add anything, just holds Steve's hand between his two, tangled with the flag, before he lets go. 

It's time to go to his bench to shake hands with the assistant coaches and personnel, smile back up because it's like everyone has won the lottery. He's not going to lie, Tony takes a particular petty pleasure when he reaches Team USA's coaches to smirk at Hammer. He can be the better man, though, so he doesn't say anything. The green tint of Hammer's skin, his limp handshake and the way he almost avoids his eyes is reward enough. Tony doesn't brag, but he does wish he could: how’s that for a fuck you, asshole? 

**

It's a whirlwind after that, interviews starting even before they get their medals and flowers, where Tony is last in line and gets a pretty big cheer from the crowd even in a foreign country. For sure there are a lot of Team Canada fans in the crowd, face painted white and red. He wonders, for a second, if Pepper is cheering too. Then there is the 'O Canada' as the flag rises, and the pictures, followed by a whole lot of celebrating when they get back in the locker room. Wade keeps on shouting "fuck yeah!" and every time he does someone throws something bubbly at him. At first it was champagne, but soon enough no one wastes it in him anymore and it's generally beer. 

Tony doesn't know how long it lasts, but there are journalists in the mix, cameras and mics shoved in his face, and the PR habits kick in. A little flirting, a whole lot of smiling, Tony spends a lot of time saying how hard it was because Team USA played so well. He quickly deflects when he's asked how it was to score against Steve Rogers and if it's going to be weird when they get back to Washington. They are professionals; they'll get over it. Right? Awesome, now Tony worries that Steve will always resent him a little for this loss, deep down. 

He passes his flag around and asks whomever he catches to it sign it and his jersey for charity. The party atmosphere is great, Tony’s drank enough sips of champagne here and there to feel a little tipsy with it, but it's loud, and he's hot and on the brink of having a headache. Just thinking of the droves of journalists that will clamor for his attention as he leaves the locker room has him feeling a little sick. Among it all, Tony manages to change into his Team Canada tracksuit, even though he's sticky with alcohol. He shoves one of the specially made 'Canada gold' tuques on his messy hair, and he decides to find a little quiet corner, at least for a few minutes.

Logan left just before him, and Tony can clearly see that the journalists are waiting at the end of the corridor towards the exit in the arena lobby. Cursing, he slips the other way, towards the play area. Thankfully he doesn't meet anyone else that way, and he soon reaches the rink. The arena lights are mostly off, giving the place an air of calm after the storm. He can still hear an echo of the earlier noises, the camera flashes when he scored, which already seems far away. Tony leans against the protective glass and rests his forehead on the cool Plexiglas, closing his eyes. Yeah, he needed that. Just a minute, before the circus starts again. 

It might be a minute, maybe ten, but a sharp whistle has him looking up over his shoulder. It's Steve, sitting in the stands. Tony hadn't even looked if there was someone else, just reached the ice. If Steve hadn't made his presence known, Tony would not have noticed him.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks. 

Jesus. The man just lost one of the most important games of his life and he worries if Tony is well. How is he even real?

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

Should he leave? He intruded on Steve's own quiet time, after all. But Steve sits back and inclines his head to his side, looking at the seats on his right. It's a clear invitation to join him and impossible to refuse. Tony zips his tracksuit over his t-shirt and the gold medal still around his neck – he's not a sadist – and he finds his way up. He's about to sit a seat apart when Steve lowers the one right next to him. 

Once he’s sitting down though, thigh touching Steve’s, Tony doesn't know what to say. Again, he cannot really apologize, and he has a feeling it wouldn't be welcome anyway. Steve isn't even looking at him, still gazing at the rink. So, for one of the first times in his life, Tony Stark stays silent. It's surprisingly comfortable. So much so that he's not even the first to break it.

"I want to do something to make this day suck a little less," Steve finally says, now looking at Tony intently. He looks so very serious, the very picture of resolve.

"Anything," Tony declares fervently, turning is his seat to face Steve. He would do anything at all to make him happy, always. "Do you have something in mind? Do you want to leave?"

Steve interrupts him by cradling Tony's face in his big hands. He doesn't even have time to be surprised that Steve pulls him into a kiss, firm and sure. After a second where he stops breathing (is this really happening? Oh God, yes, it is!), Tony surges forward, kissing back with everything he has. He's so enthusiastic that he climbs right onto Steve's lap; he's not a fool, he's got to seize this opportunity. Steve breaks the kiss with a chuckle, smiling now. Tony beams as they rest their foreheads together, and he can't help carding his fingers in Steve's short hair. So much gold for him today, he's one lucky bastard. 

"Yeah, that works," Steve says. "Much better," he adds as he pulls Tony into another kiss.

Understatement of the century, if you ask Tony. 

It's the Best Day _Ever_. 

 

***

Epilogue: Months later

 

There is a bit of precarious stacking involved to unlock the apartment door while holding drinks and breakfast, but Tony manages not to spill anything. It’s almost eight o'clock, so he expects Steve to be up, but the place is still silent and dark. It seems that his boyfriend has slept until the alarm generally meant for Tony for the first time he can remember. No wonder though, Steve tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep just before dawn. Tony didn't sleep much either, and got up as soon as he realized that he if started being restless in bed, he'd wake Steve up.

It's as if they've experienced some kind of body swap: Tony has already gone to the condo's gym where he ran ten miles on the treadmill, showered, bought their breakfast at the café across the street and he's back while Steve has been totally oblivious. Tony should feel calmer, at least a bit more centered after the exercise, but he's still full of manic energy. 

In contrast, there is something endearing to see Steve looking this vulnerable, hair tousled and his criminally long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. Even with the beard he looks young and soft, it would be criminal to wake him up. He'll let him sleep, go find something to do for a bit, and he'll come back later. Tony's approaching the bedside table to turn the alarm off before it blares – he hates that thing – when Steve finally moves. Not even opening his eyes he stretches, putting his mouth-watering body on display when the sheets displaces. Damn, Tony will never tire of just looking at him. 

Steve reaches for the right side of the bed, where Tony usually sleeps, and frowns, presumably because he finds the place cold. 

"Right here darling," Tony says. He sits on the edge of the bed and caresses Steve's shoulder.

Eyes blinking open, Steve turns towards him and looks adorably confused. 

"Whassit?" he yawns. "You up?"

Tony cards his fingers in Steve's hair, finds it charming that it's long enough that there are bits of it that want to curl.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep and I didn't want to disturb you. Went for a run."

Steve makes a disbelieving sound and scrunches his face; Tony would be offended if it wasn't adorable. It makes Tony want to mess him up a little, and he knows exactly how he wants to do it.

He stands up and starts stripping – perfunctory at first, slower when he sees that Steve's eyes are half-lidded and he's observing with obvious interest. It's always thrilling to see how much Steve wants him, just as much as Tony cannot get enough of Steve. Once naked, he slips under the covers and lies down on top of Steve who immediately caresses his back in a long sweep from shoulder to ass, humming.

"'Morning," Steve says with a soft smile.

"Good morning sweetheart," Tony says. He kisses him sweet at first, a brush of lips, but then he rolls his hips down, erections sliding together and takes advantage of Steve's gasp to deepen the kiss. 

Tony's earlier restlessness is rapidly turning into the urgency to fuck and come. He leaves Steve's mouth to start kissing and nipping down his neck, collar bone, detouring for nipples, but he's steadily going down, eager to reach the prize. Steve, still sleep heavy, moans beautifully when Tony takes him in his mouth.

"Fuuuuck," he breathes out, fingers sliding through Tony's hair.

He grunts in answer, too eager to suck and please him to stop, and it makes Steve buck up into his mouth. It's a shame that Steve generally wakes first, because Tony loves blowing him when he's like this. When completely alert, Steve keeps himself in control, no matter how much Tony tells him it's okay to let go. Sleepy, he sometimes forgets to be the perfect gentleman and lets his baser instinct kick in more. Like now, as he basically takes what he needs, fucking Tony's mouth. It doesn't get hotter than that, and Tony is rubbing off against the bed. He's so turned on he thinks he might come first.

"Jesus fucking Christ, God, your fucking mouth," Steve says, now with both hands in Tony's hair, almost choking him, and fuck, fuck, Tony won't be able to hold on.

It seems that Steve is just as gone, though, because he suddenly stills and comes right down his throat with a shout of "Tony!"

Tony swallows the best he can, tears in his eyes, but before he can put a hand on his own dick Steve has reached to grab him by his armpits and is hauling him off his cock and up his body. It never ceases to amaze him how strong Steve is and how he can basically manhandle him as he wishes. Right now it's to bring Tony in a heated kiss, and it's great, but he's so close, he needs to come too. Desperate, Tony rubs against Steve's hip, keening.

"Shhh, I've got you," Steve says. 

He makes good on that by licking his hand and then closing his fist around Tony's cock. His perfect, perfect hand, and it takes only a couple of strokes for Tony to white out, orgasm pulled right out of him. The rush of pleasure is bright and strong, and Tony melts on Steve when it recedes, heart still racing. When Steve moves to turn on his side, Tony slides down and rolls onto his back while Steve cleans the mess from his hand and their bellies. 

"Yep, I should wake up earlier than you more often," Tony says. 

He loves how his voice is a little scratchy from the earlier face-fucking. 

Steve props himself on an elbow and looks down at him with a slight frown. He delicately wipes the wetness of stray tears under Tony's eyes with his thumb. Before he apologizes or something dumb like that, Tony speaks up.

"I'm great, don't make that face."

Of course the face intensifies. "You shouldn't let me-"

"Steve," Tony interrupts. "I'm not letting you, I am actively encouraging you to do it. Did you miss how hard I came? A little rough on occasion really, really works for me. It's a good thing."

Steve sighs, but he nods. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure you won’t. Was it good for you?" Tony asks.

"It was incredible," Steve admits, leaning in for a kiss that Tony eagerly returns. 

"There we go. Incredible for you, really fucking hot for me too, everyone is happy. Yay!"

The languidness brought by the orgasm is already fading, and after a last kiss to Steve, Tony stretches and gets back up. He goes straight for the coffee he left on the dresser, and is pleased to find it at the temperature he prefers. He gulps a good third of it in one go before he grabs the rest of the breakfast and brings it to the bed.

"There," he says, depositing Steve's hot chocolate on the bedside table. "It's the good one, with marshmallows. Sesame bagel with cream cheese or almond croissant?"

Tony's ripping the paper bag open to use as a makeshift cover cloth, and without listening to the answer he pushes the bagel towards Steve. Which is his choice of course.

"Something tells me that's not your first coffee," Steve says, sitting up to lean against the headboard.

"Nope," Tony admits, shoving a good part of the croissant in his mouth. He won't volunteer that it's his third, though. He wouldn't say that it's the cause of his current agitation, though. It's perfectly clear where that comes from.

"Figures," Steve says. "You're awfully chipper for eight in the morning." 

"Well, today is a special day. Today I will make good on my promise to make it up to you for Sokovia."

Steve rolls his eyes but he's smiling. "You know, that's not only your doing."

Tony makes a dismissive gesture as he swallows more coffee. 

"I know, I know, I still need to work on that modesty thing." He's finished his coffee, the croissant is gone; Tony looks around, finds his boxer shorts and starts dressing again. "Come on, get up sleepyhead. Let's go to the arena, so I can shoot some pucks."

"My, my," Steve teases, smiling. "A run and now extra practice? You must be coming down with something."

"Why do you stay things like that? I am a professional." 

He's dedicated; he does what needs to be done. Tony abandons his plan of dressing in order to straddle Steve's lap, who's slowly drinking his hot chocolate, eyes dancing with amusement. 

"Uh-huh."

The sass warrants Steve a slight backhanded love-swat on his ridiculous pec. 

"I am and you know it. C'mon, chop chop, get your pretty ass out of bed!" Tony urges, before kissing Steve. 

When he pulls back it's to grin, excitement already building back under his skin. 

"It's game seven tonight baby. We've got a Stanley Cup to win."

 

**

(Of course they win the Cup. Together. And it's a lot sweeter than gold)

 

**

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> How about that art, huh? Not only is Angel amazing at drawing, she went along with my crazy idea to make Tony Canadian for the story and touched up the original image to make it story compliant (I needed Steve and Tony on opposite teams for the Olympics. The fact that I grew up in Montréal explains the rest ;) )
> 
> Working on this story with Angel has been a total delight. Not only did she cheer me on, we exchanged a lot of long rambling emails about hockey, contracts, all kinds of stuff and she was generous enough to act as my hockey guru to make sure I didn't say stupid things. If I did anyway, I am so sorry.
> 
> I was also blessed with the help of Avengercat who did a tremendous beta job for this story. Her attention to detail was a godsend, thank you so much xox 
> 
> BTW, the title is borrowed from "We are the champions" by Queen, an arena song if there is one ;)
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr at [@gottalovev](http://gottalovev.tumblr.com/), new friends and excited babbling about fandom is always welcome :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥


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